


The Hole

by Tophats_and_Teacups



Series: Unforeseen Lives [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Codependency, Complete, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Imprisonment, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Men Crying, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Series, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tophats_and_Teacups/pseuds/Tophats_and_Teacups
Summary: Harry Potter died, the Order scattered, and Ron Weasley ended up in Azkaban. Haunted by the war, he drowns in misery. Before he can truly lose his mind, a voice through a hole in the wall offers salvation.Draco Malfoy was prepared to die alone, friendless, and tormented. When he unexpectedly discovers his former enemy might be the last person he'll ever speak with, he knows for certain he can't reveal his identity without risking what little solace he's found in Hell.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley
Series: Unforeseen Lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174358
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	1. Alone

Ron shuddered, the biting cold digging into his bones painfully. He had no idea how long it’d been, but he knew it was nowhere near over. Azkaban had lived up to it’s reputation of being the worst place imaginable, and Ron Weasley had long since stopped hoping for anything better. The only things he looked forward to were the brief interludes of time in which the Dementors were absent from his hallway, leaving him to wallow in his misery without their depressing help.

His cell was tiny, smaller than his bedroom at the burrow had been, and not nearly as cozy. He was surrounded by stone on four sides, with a thick steel door. There were no windows, no bars, no guests. The only opening in the door was a thin slot at the bottom, barely big enough for a bowl to be slid through once a day, half-filled with just enough calories to keep him alive. His bed was barely a thin mat on the floor, no pillows, or covers. There was a small hole in the back corner, for him to relieve himself into, and all he wore were thin, scratchy stripes that had holes picked in them from the last owner. A number had been magically embroidered on the chest of his ratty shirt, and was the only thing in the cell that seemed new, and unfadeable.

Ron spent the first few weeks screaming, banging, and fighting, but now, he sat in the corner, hunched in on himself, no longer having even the energy to sob. He had come in with so many happy memories, he’d been an immediate favorite of the cloaked guards. No longer. Now all he could think about was his brother’s death. Harry’s death. Everyone else who’d likely died, because he hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t fought hard enough. He hadn’t kept a closer eye on his best friend.

Harry had snuck off on his own, into the dark, into the Dark Lord’s clutches, and he’d paid with his life. Hagrid had carried his limp body up to the castle, displaying their fallen savior, for all to see. No one had been expecting him to wake up, jump from Hagrid’s arms, or for him to send Nagini right into their waiting and deadly hands. But as Voldemort had raised his wand, Harry stood defenseless, wand still pointed toward the snake that twisted through the air toward its doom, before the third killing curse in his life hit him. There would be no fourth.

Ron had screamed, hexing madly into the crowd of Death Eaters, while the Light scattered, running for their lives, as the Dark retook Hogwarts. They’d caught several members of the Order of the Phoenix, and Ron had been among them, still battling to get to his fallen friend’s side as they overwhelmed, and stunned him. No more killing needed to be done. The war was won.

So now, Ron sat meekly in his corner, slowly going mad as the dementors floated past, sucking the goodness, and love from him, leaving him broken, and empty. He paid no mind to the rats that tried to steal his unappetizing meals, ignored the quiet drip of water from somewhere, and tried not to think at all. Thinking only brought more misery.

* * *

Malfoy picked absently at the wall of his cell, his hand resting on the floor as his fingernail scratched at the stone. The slowly growing hole in the wall was the only thing he had anymore, and even it wasn’t his own. The chipped indent had been there when they’d thrown him in, and only after exhausting himself trying to get out, did he realize, someone else had started trying to break through the bottom of the room. He didn’t speculate about the previous occupant, but got to work furthering their progress. It was his only hope.

He couldn’t hear anything from the other cells anymore, not since the occupants had either died, or gone insane. The soft dripping noise was all he could hear aside from his own scratching, and breathing. He’d occasionally hear someone else brought in screaming, but could never identify the voices. The panic all sounded the same. The nightmarish horror quickly robbing them of their identity, and speech. The dementors stole everything that wasn’t horror. Malfoy wasn’t sure if he still felt halfway sane, because of the hole he slowly dug, or the two years he’d spent in a previous nightmare, before being sent here. At least here, he wasn’t afraid for his life. He knew exactly what waited in his future. Here, there was the spirit-draining dementors, but at least no one to disappoint, no one to mock him, and no one to get hurt.

He knew his nail was bleeding, but kept picking, occasionally leaning down to blow the dust out of his project, and leave room for more growth. The only things that seemed to grow in this macabre place: holes, and desperation. He would get out, even if he was one-hundred, senile, and blind, by the time he made it. He would get out.


	2. Voices

Ron lay on his side, curled in a ball, his eyes closed to the sounds of dripping water, and his own breath. He sometimes imagined he could hear the storm raging outside, threatening to blow the prison into the sea, and drown them all. But it was just a fantasy. He was positive that the prison was magically reinforced, keeping the weather from really wearing it down, or tearing it apart.

A soft scratching noise came from the other side of his cell, so faint it was barely audible, and he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, trying to ignore the sound of the rats that managed to slip in and out of his food slot. The scratching kept going, constant, and rhythmic. Unlike the frenzied spurts from rats he’d grown accustomed to. He sat up, and looked around the lightless cell, looking for the source. There was nothing. No rats, no insects. Just that same erosive rhythm.

He lay back down, and closed his eyes, shutting the strange noise out. He didn’t need anything else to drive him crazier. He had plenty, right here, in his own head.

“Dammit.” A soft whisper echoed to his ears, and he scowled. He hadn’t had hallucinations before. This could only be the next step toward total dementia. He sat back up, looking at the door. Was there someone out there? Had someone come to visit and mock one of the other inmates?

Ron stared at the door, listening for any other noises, but even the scratching had stopped. The water dripping was his only company. He lay back down, and tried to fall asleep. At least then, he could escape to someplace not here. Equally as horrific, but different.

“Hello?”

He scrunched into a tighter ball, fighting the voice. He wouldn’t give in to the madness. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.

“Can you hear me?”

Ron sat upright. If that was a hallucination, it was much too convincing.

“Who’s there?” He asked the room, staring confusedly at the blank walls, the unbudging door.

“What’s your name?” The voice asked, and Ron puzzled. Shouldn’t his own lunacy know who he was? He felt a tiny spark of anger. Even in his own head, he wasn’t well-known. Of course not.

“Leave me alone.” He hissed, thumping back to his side, and covering his head with his arms. He had no interest in delusions.

“I’m in the next cell over. I’ve picked a hole through the wall.” The voice hissed, making Ron sit up at lightning speed. It was real. At least, he thought it was. He looked around the walls, looking for holes, or cracks. There was nothing, except where the stones met.

“Where’s the hole, then?” He asked the voice, knowing that this small hope would crush him later. Hope, he’d learned, wasn’t a good thing.

“Near the floor. Left, err, right side of your cell. Near the back, I think.” The voice answered, stuttering over the answer, as though having to work it out. Ron crawled away from his bed, peering at the wall near the floor, getting closer, and closer to the corner across from his bed. He was just about to give up, and declare it an illusion, when he saw it. A small, black speck, not even a centimeter wide. He leaned down, and peered into it, keeping his face far enough back, his eye couldn’t get stabbed with a finger, or ambushed by a bug. Spiders liked to live in holes that size. He shuddered, and scooted farther back. It was too dark to see the other side of the hole.

“Find it?” The voice was closer, definitely coming from the hole. Ron sighed with relief that it wasn’t a spider’s home, and lay down, right in front of the hole.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered in a low voice. He didn’t want to be heard, didn’t want the hole to be filled in, or be moved to another cell. He finally had someone to talk to. Given that it didn’t turn out to be his own mind playing tricks on him.

“Good. Now what’s your name?”

“Ron.” He answered, staring at the hole as though it would magically produce his new acquaintance. It was a new tiny light in his dark world. Something real, something substantial that couldn’t be taken away from him.

“Weasley?” The voice sounded surprised, more than questioning. Ron thought it sounded familiar, but couldn’t place it. It was too quiet, too rough from Merlin-knows-how-long of being silent.

“Yeah. Who’re you?” He asked, suddenly curious. This person knew him. Was it a friend?

“I’d rather not say.” The voice sounded hesitant. Ron frowned at the hole. Was it an enemy? It couldn’t be, they only locked up the good guys, not their own.

“Why? Do I hate you?” He asked, feeling a familiar humor enter his tone. When was the last time he’d joked? He couldn’t remember.

“Everyone hates me.” The voice was filled with sadness, and self-loathing, and Ron felt his heart twinge with pity. It was the voice of someone just as worn-down as him.

“Fair enough. What should I call you then?” Ron asked, wanting a name to put to the voice.

“I don’t care. Call me whatever you like.” The voice answered, sounding touchy, and distressed. Ron thought for a minute, trying to figure out who it was. It was a strange thing, being so curious after so long feeling dormant and empty. He didn’t know who it could be, he supposed there were several people who must hate themselves, and be hated by others. Many people probably wanted to change their names.

“Then I won’t call you anything.” He retorted with mock disdain. “If you want a new name, fine, but I’m not doing the work for you. Pick it yourself.”

“Ha Ha.” The voice said with feigned humor. “Very funny, Weasley.” It really was a familiar voice, but whose? Ron thought it sounded almost comforting, the first real voice he’d heard in ages. And someone he knew, even if he didn’t know who, exactly. It was rather nice, he thought.

“So, Whoever, why’d you dig a hole here? Why not to the hallway? Or out the back?” Ron asked, trying to provoke the voice into talking more.

“It was already here. I just kept going with it, really.” The voice answered. Ron nodded to himself.

“Are you going to make it bigger, or try a different wall, now you know this one’s a dead end?” He asked.

“I don’t know yet. It’s not really anymore of a dead end than anywhere else could be. I mean, the cells are back to back, so the only immediate progress would be into the hallway, but if you go that way, you’ll be caught almost instantly. So I’ll probably keep going, until I get somewhere useful. It’ll probably take decades, but I figure, I’ll eventually get out, or die trying.”

Ron laid in silence for a moment, thinking about that. It was true, he couldn’t really escape through the hallway, unless he had a wand. They’d likely snapped his wand. The only real way out was through other cells, until they reached the outside. And then what? Jump into the ocean? Drowning definitely seemed better than slowly wasting away in here. He moved his hand, and touched the tiny opening, scraping his fingernail across it. It didn’t seem to have any effect. He kept scratching in silence, trying to widen the hole, feeling as though, maybe, if they could break through this one, there really was a chance for escape.

“I’ll help you.” He announced quietly, his finger pausing the seemingly useless act as he spoke. “I don’t want to die in here, either.”

“Thank you.” The voice replied, and he heard the scratching noise from earlier. That madman really was digging his was through the wall with his hands. And it’d actually worked. He now had someone to talk to. He continued the picking, and felt a long-dead hope swell back to life. He was going to get out. Even if they spent their whole life digging, he was going to see the sky again, before he died.

* * *

Malfoy felt his heart clench painfully as Weasly declared himself an asset. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d still be as willing if he knew who was really on this side of the wall. Had he really not figured it out? What a dunce. But still, Weasley’s help would be greatly beneficial.

Malfoy kept scraping at the wall, hoping that by the time he finally got it wide enough to see through, Weasley wouldn’t hate him quite so much. It was a nearly impossible wish, but it was his only chance. He wasn’t sure he had the mental stability left to start a different hole. He’d just have to keep going, even if it meant facing Weasley’s future wrath.

He fell asleep with his hand on the wall, his mind drifting in and out of nightmares. He always had nightmares now. There wasn’t anything good worth dreaming about. Hogwarts would never again be the wonderful place of his childhood, his home would always be tainted. His mother was dead. His friends surely detested him. There was nothing good. Except the hole. Escape, and a hurried death were his only light in his pitch black existence. If he was lucky, perhaps when the hole was big enough, Weasley would kill him, and save him a century of finger-mining through walls. His finger kept twitching, even in his sleep.


	3. Spiders, Or Rats?

Draco woke with a start, his finger pulled swiftly from the hole, panic entering his mind. Something had touched him. Was it a rat? Was he bleeding? He checked his hand, but found no blood, or other mark, besides his broken, cracked fingernails. His thoughts came back sluggishly, and he realized that Weasley must’ve been digging, too.

“Was that you?” A worried voice called through the hole, barely a hissed whisper, but full of fear.

“Yeah, it was.” Draco answered, feeling amused that Weasley had been just as frightened of the touch as he had been.

It’d been awhile since he’d first started talking to the red-head, and though it was hard to tell time in the catacomb-like prison, he was certain it’d been nearly a month. He’d been using his dreadful sleep cycle as a measure, and had tried counting the minutes between sleeps. It hadn’t worked, so he’d given the idea up, and had simply judged by the length of his hair, and scruffiness of his face. It got worse everyday, his hair tickling the insides of his ears, his stubble actually long enough to grasp in his fingers.

He and Weasley had been working diligently on the hole, sometimes working in silence, sometimes talking to fill the void that grew inside them as the dementors swept around, sucking their hope away like the light. It was slow work, but finally, the hole was big enough to stick a finger through, and not get stuck.

“Thought it might’ve been a spider…” Weasley mumbled, his voice obviously relieved. Draco turned that sentence over in his head a moment.

“That’s right, you’re terrified of them. I remember.” he mused, laughing quietly at the memory of his face whenever he’d encounter one. “Why are you so scared of them?”

“My brother transfigured my teddy-bear into one while I was holding it. I was three.” Ron said, sounding bitter. And then, before Malfoy could ask which brother, he heard a sob. And then another. Weasley was weeping.

Draco froze, feeling uncomfortable, and out of place. He wasn’t sure how to comfort the Gryffindor. Wasn’t sure why he was even crying. He tried to think of something to say, but everything seemed phony, and awkward. He began scratching at the wall again, as though he couldn’t hear his neighbor sobbing uncontrollably. It sounded muffled, so perhaps he was trying to hide his blubbering. Malfoy scratched harder, his abused fingers already aching, as he used four of his nails to scratch at the hand-sized hole on his side, slowly chipping the rock away.

“He died at Hogwarts. Fred, did.” Weasley’s voice came through the sobs. Malfoy felt his stomach twist with pain. The Weasley twins had been prats, but some of their antics had been pretty amusing. He’d even admired them on occasion.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.” Malfoy whispered, feeling guilt at the death. He’d switched sides during the battle, and was paying for it, but every death felt like a personal burden. He could’ve stopped them from dying if only he’d had a backbone. If he’d stood up for himself sooner. If he’d done what was right.

“Not your fault, mate. I was right there. I should’ve helped him. Should’ve seen.. Seen it coming.” More sniveling, and whimpers. Malfoy didn’t even feel like teasing his old enemy. He knew just how he felt, after watching his mother die in a flash of green, while he stood by, unable to stop it.

“I watched my mother die.” He admitted quietly, feeling his eyes sting with tears, even after months of thinking about it nearly constantly. He hadn’t actually said the words aloud, ‘til now. “She was found guilty as a blood-traitor, and murdered on the spot. My trial was right after, so I was there. I stood right there, and couldn’t lift a finger to save her.” He realized, he, too, was hiccuping with grief, tears pouring down his face. He couldn’t get any more words out, and sat against the wall, wiping his tear-stained face, crying with an unlikely companion.

As the bawling quieted into gasps, then sniffles, neither said anything, the scratching resuming as they tried to put their heartache away again, back to whatever inner cell it resided in. Draco wiped his face on his sleeve, the old, grimy silk feeling almost clean against his equally dirty face.

“I’m sorry about your mum.” Weasley said, quieter than even their usual whisper. “I don’t even know what happened to mine.”

“She’s probably alive. She’s a tough witch. I saw her fighting. She can handle herself.” Malfoy admitted, remembering the redheaded woman’s ferocity. She’d do anything to keep her children safe, just like Narcissa. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried not to think of mothers, or death.

“You were in the battle?” Ron asked, his usual curiosity about Malfoy’s identity back in his voice. During their time working on the hole, he’d tried to weasel a name out of Malfoy with blunt questions, and not-so-subtle insults, meant to irritate the blond into answering.

“Part of it.” Malfoy answered, his fingers pausing on the hole. Should he just tell Weasley who he was? No. Not yet. He’d know soon enough.

“What side were you on?” Ron asked, though he’d already asked this question, in different ways before. Malfoy sighed, and kept scratching.

“My own.” He answered, not a real lie, but not the total truth. His fingers worked tirelessly as his mind wandered.

* * *

Ron leaned against the wall, sitting on his mat. He’d scooted the meager bed against the wall, feeling more comfortable nearer his new friend. He slept slightly easier, knowing there was someone on the other side who he could wake up and talk to. Someone who seemed friendly, if at times, mysterious. Ron wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but he still hadn’t figured out just who his neighbor was. It was like the man was determined not to answer questions about himself, which made Ron wonder all the harder.

He scuffed the wall half-heartedly, wiping the remnants of tears from his face. He really couldn’t put a name to that voice. The voice he sometimes dreamt about. A voice that encouraged him to actually eat the food he was given. A voice that seemed more familiar now, than his own. He’d tried guessing who it was, but every time he thought he had it, some piece of the puzzle just wouldn’t fit.

“Have you picked a new name, yet?” He asked, feeling exasperated with the constant internal guessing. He needed something to put to the voice.

“I haven’t. I kind of thought, maybe something about holes, or digging, but nothing really appealed.” The voice replied. “I used to think my name fit me, but… Now, I’m not sure anything does. Maybe just, ‘Oi, you’.” The voice laughed, bringing up a slew of memories or Ron calling ‘Oi, you’, through the hole. Ron snickered, appreciating the man’s humor.

“Well, it’s worked so far.” Ron agreed, feeling his lips stretch in an uncomfortable smile. Before his friend, he couldn’t remember the last real time he’d laughed. But now, it seemed like he was almost normal. They joked, and talked, and confided, as though they really were friends. Ron found it hard to believe that here, in Azkaban, he was laughing over a stupid joke, and making a friend. It’d been the last thing he’d ever expected. He’d never expected to make another friend, to laugh, or to ever feel someone touching him, ever again. But now, he had all three. The hole was big enough that hopefully soon, he could see through it, and find out who his neighbor was. One mystery to solve, and only one way to do it.

He scratched harder at the wall, determined to get through, and actually see his friend. He hadn’t seen anyone in so long, he couldn’t wait. Maybe, if the hole got big enough, they could shake hands. Or if he ever did manage to come through entirely, Ron decided, he was going to give him a bear hug. There wasn’t going to be anyone else to hug ever again, and Ron thought he’d rather enjoy one. He’d used to hate the way his older brothers would squeeze him, or thump him on the back. He never thought that he’d actually crave hugging a bloke, but maybe he was going batty after all. He shrugged to himself, and kept digging.


	4. Hands

Ron was snoring softly, his hand stuck slightly through the hole. It’d gotten wide enough for most of his fingers to get through, and he’d been trying to make it wider, wide enough to see through properly. It was so dark, and his neighbor purposely avoided putting his face that low, so Ron could never quite make him out. He’d thought once, that he’d seen blond hair, but the skin was so pale, he couldn’t tell if it really _had_ been hair. He often saw the bloke’s hand, picking at his own side, occasionally poking a finger through with a bit of rock crumbling. Ron had studied the hand, trying to identify the owner, to no avail.

They’d gotten friendlier, but still, he wouldn’t divulge a name, or show his face. Ron had tried assuring him that whoever he was, he wouldn’t hate him, but still, the man persisted in hiding. It had almost become a game to them, Ron constantly trying to figure it out, while his neighbor constantly refused to say.

Ron dreamt of those dirt-streaked white hands, dreamt that the voice came directly from them. There was no one on the other end. Just the hands.

He woke with a start, gasping, and looking in horror toward the hole. He could see the fingers inside the wall, lying still, just beyond the opening. The man was asleep, and Ron could hear soft snores, as the fingers twitched with a dream. Ron hesitantly reached out, tucking two fingers through the gap, and prodded the hand, his dream seeming too-real to forget. The fingers twitched, and Ron yanked his fingers back, as though worried the hand would bite him. He glared at the hand, and stuck his digits back through, reconnecting them with the white skin, and refusing to pull away when they twitched. Nothing to be afraid of.

The white fingers curled around his, holding gently to the warm skin that stuck through the wall. Ron’s eyes widened as he felt his neighbor practically hold his hand in his sleep. His heart was beating frantically, but he didn’t pull away. He curled his own fingers, embracing right back. He admitted silently to himself that after so long without contact, it felt nice, touching someone else. He lay back down, keeping his fingers through the wall, and closed his eyes, soaking in the feeling of human contact.

He could get used to this, if he wasn’t careful.

* * *

Draco felt something warm in his hand, and squeezed gently, trying to figure out what it was. He opened his eyes, and looked down his arm, seeing his hand inside the hole, and curled around something…

Fingers. He was holding fingers. He gasped, and dropped them, worried for a moment that they’d been cut off, and he was holding severed digits.

They disappeared back through the wall with a breath from Ron, who shuffled, the sounds of sitting, and waking up.

“Sorry…” Ron mumbled, as though he’d been the one to do the waking.

“Sorry.” Draco echoed, clenching and unclenching his fist. Ron’s hand had been warm, and alive. It would’ve been comforting if Draco hadn’t immediately worried that the fingers had been unattached. It must’ve been due to his dream, filled with beatings, and blood.

“Don’t be.” Weasley replied, and Malfoy let it drop. Had he realized they’d been holding hands? Malfoy almost hoped so. Maybe then, he’d do it again, on purpose. Draco shook his head, and stretched his arm back out, beginning his daily ritual of scratching at the wall. He’d never really held hands with someone. It was an interesting feeling. He’d made out with Pansy, but never actually held hands, or hugged her. She’d always tried to cling to him, but the harder she tried, the less interested he got. After Pansy had come the Dark Lord, leaving no room for even friendships. Only fear, and the task he was set. Only duty.

He picked more furiously, imagining the wall was the Dark Lord’s face. He really hated him. He’d never been able to think that before, but now, Draco was away from him, and all the other Death Eaters, free to think whatever he wanted. And he hated Voldemort. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to destroy his evil master, and live a normal life. He wanted to have friends again. He wanted to date. He wanted to have another chance at being a teen.

But that chance was gone. Over. He’d never get another. He was a man now, and he would die, with only one friend. A friend who didn’t even know who he was, yet.

“Weasley, I want to-”

His words were cut off, by the sound of the food slot opening.

“Ron?!”

“What?” Draco stared at the open flap, as a light shined in, blinding him. He shielded his face.

“Not him!” The light disappeared, and Malfoy blinked away the burned-in image of light.

“Weasley?” He hissed through the wall, suddenly terrified. Someone was here, and looking for his only friend.

“What is it?” Weasley asked, confused, but then Malfoy heard another sound. Someone else speaking.

“This one! I found him!” The shout was loud enough to be heard up and down the hallway, and Malfoy, leaned down, staring through the hole as a loud crashing noise echoed through the walls.

“Ron, come on, let’s go!” The voice encouraged loudly. He saw Ron’s feet, standing in the light cast from a wand.

“Wha-”

“No time, let’s GO!” The wizard yelled, and Ron’s feet stumbled forward, toward freedom.

“No…” Malfoy whispered to himself, feeling tears start to form in his eyes. He couldn’t be alone again. He couldn’t stand it. He hit the hole, as though he could punch straight through the wall, feeling his breathing hitch in his throat as he tried desperately to follow the escaping wizards.


	5. Escape

Ron picked absently at the wall, wondering if his neighbor had felt them touching. He hadn’t said anything about it, so maybe not. That meant that he might be able to get away with it again, on ‘accident’.

“Weasley,”

Oh no, he knew. Ron thought, panicking.

“I want to-”

Ron froze, staring at the hole, wondering if he was about to get in trouble with his only friend.

“What?” the voice asked, confused. Ron stared bewildered for a moment. “Weasley?” He sounded upset.

“What is it?” Ron asked, thoroughly confused by the strange conversation his neighbor had just had with himself.

“Ron?”

Ron started, and looked toward the door. The food flap was open, and there was a wand poking through, shining light that blinded him. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes, opening his mouth to ask ‘what’, again.

“This one! I found him!” It sounded like Bill. His door suddenly slammed open, crashing into the wall it was blasted with such force, the hinges screaming as they were tested.

“Wha-” He began, staring at his brother, who stood in the doorway, as Hermione joined him, looking out of breath.

“No time, let’s GO!” Bill shouted, reaching out, and grabbing Ron from the small room, pulling him into the hallway.

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly, as Bill tugged at his arm.

“Hug later!” Bill sounded tense, and he and Hermione began pulling Ron away from his cell.

“Wait.” Ron said, tugging on Bill’s hold, trying to dig his feet in. “Wait! I can’t leave him!” He shouted, pulling as hard as he could against his big brother’s grip. Bill stopped, and he and Hermione looked curiously at him.

“We can’t leave my friend. We have to get him.” Ron said, pointing to the door next to his. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he just left the man there, to wither away, picking at the hole alone.

“Who is it?” Hermione asked, but Ron pulled his wrist out of Bill’s hand, squaring his shoulders.

“I’m not leaving without him.” He said, trying to look fierce.

“Fine!” Bill conceded, and jabbed his wand at the door. It blew open with another loud bang, and Ron hurried over, hoping it hadn’t caught his neighbor with it.

“Oi, you, let’s go!” He called into the cell, staring down for the first time at his mate.

The pale, panicked face turned away from the wall, looking up at him with surprise. His dirty face and filthy blonde hair were illuminated as Bill stood behind his brother, wand held aloft. He looked awful, his squinting eyes red, his face streaked with dirt and tears, his hair nearly matted. Ron wondered briefly if that was how he, too looked.

“Malfoy?” Hermione gasped, her voice full of shock.

“Let’s go!” Ron said,extending his hand, staring down at the blond with a confused look. His mind was a swirling mess of thoughts, but he could untangle them later. They had to escape.

* * *

Draco scratched at the wall, his nails breaking, and bleeding as he tried furiously to get through. He wouldn’t be left behind. He had to escape. He couldn’t hear anything over the pounding in his ears, and his vision was blurring, but he still tried, pounding at the wall, feeling a choked sob rise from his throat. He was leaving. Ron was leaving without him.

Another loud bang echoed through his room, and he almost screamed, looking up into another lit wand. Ron stood there, looking deathly thin, filthy, and entirely too heroic.

“Malfoy?” He looked over to see Granger standing behind Ron, stunned, and confused.

“Let’s go!” Ron said, holding his hand out, his face almost as confused as Granger’s, but a determined look in his eyes. Malfoy snatched his hand, and pulled himself to his feet, wide-eyed as he was practically towed from the cell, and yanked down the corridor. They were running faster than his feet could keep up with, and if not for Ron’s hand in his, Draco was sure he’d have fallen.

They rounded a corner, and he gasped, as they ran right at a dementor.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” Granger shouted, waving her wand. An otter flew from the end and chased the dementor back up the hallway, out of their path as they ran madly to Merlin-knows-where. Malfoy’s heart was hammering as they ran, as much from adrenaline, as from elation that Weasley had come back for him. He wouldn’t die alone, in a cell, without a trace of happiness.

* * *

Ron sped up the hallway after Bill, keeping pace with Hermione, his hand grasping Malfoy’s as they ran for their lives. It was exhilarating, but he was already out of breath, the stitch in his side like a knife, but he kept a firm hold on Malfoy’s hand, making sure he wasn’t lost as they turned corners, and he stumbled after them. He could hear the boy gasping for breath behind him, but couldn’t slow down. They had to escape.

Hermione banished a dementor, and they ran past, her otter floating along beside them, ready for any other threats. They ran through a doorway that the door had already been blown off of. Sudden rain pelted them from every direction. Wind howled, and the ground seemed to slip underfoot as he kept after Bill.

“Take Ron, I’ll take Malfoy!” Hermione shouted to Bill, falling back a few steps, to grab Malfoy’s other arm. “Ron, let go!” She called, as Bill grabbed his brother. He began to shake his head, but his hand was ripped away from Malfoy’s, the two pulling them apart. He panicked, turning to stare back at his companion, only to be sucked into the vortex of apparition.

He collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, and looking around wildly. Malfoy! Where was he? A loud *POP* sounded, pulling his eyes to the left, directly where Hermione and Malfoy had just appeared.

“Are you okay?” He gasped, scrambling to his feet, eyeing Malfoy. There was enough light here to see blood on his face and hands, and he pushed hair from his eyes with trembling fingers.

“Yeah, you?” Malfoy wheezed, staring into Ron’s eyes worriedly.

“Alright.” Ron answered, and looked around, trying to figure out _where_ they were. They seemed to be in a small room, with a light on the ceiling, illuminating all the faces that watched each other. There were garden tools, and muggle things he didn’t have a name for. A shed. They were in a shed.

“Ron, why did we bring Malfoy?” Hermione gasped, holding her side, and trying to breathe properly after their sprint.

“He’s my friend.” Ron answered plainly, not wanting to explain it just then, and not really sure Malfoy even really WAS his friend. He could figure it out later. He wanted answers, first. “How’d you get in? Was anyone else there? What’s happened? How long were-”

“Slow down!” Bill admonished, holding up his hands in defense.

“Alright, first, explain what just happened.” Ron demanded, his eyes darting to Malfoy, and away. He seemed to be stuck to the floor, winded, and shaking. Not a threat by any means.

“We broke you out. We worked in teams, to get as many people out as possible. I don’t know if anyone else succeeded yet or not, but we should probably leave the shed, to make room for anyone else coming.” Bill held his hand out to the door, and Ron stalked toward it, paused, and turned back to his blond frienemy.

“Up you get.” He said, holding out his hand, again, to the blond boy. Malfoy took it without hesitating, and they pulled him to his feet, where he stood, trying not to fall over. Malfoy released his hand and grabbed his side in the same fashion Hermione had, his face twisted with pain as he followed Ron out of the shed.

“How long were we in there?” Ron asked, touching a long lock of red hair that fell in front of his face. It practically passed his nose.

“You were in nearly a year. Malfoy was in slightly less than you, since he got a trial, but still, almost a year.” Hermione answered, following along, her eyes darting warily to Malfoy, and then back to Ron.

“What’s happened since… Since he won?” Ron asked, seeing a dead Harry before him again.

“A lot’s happened. We mostly scattered, but we’re starting to regroup.” She eyed Malfoy again, and snapped her mouth shut.

“He’s locked a lot of people up. Killed even more. I’ve lost track of how many people he’s murdered this year, alone. So many went missing, too.” Bill supplied, also eyeing Malfoy distrustfully, as he led their small group across a field, and up the back stairs of a large three-story house.

“What about Mum, Dad, Ginny, George?” Ron asked, keeping one name from his thoughts. He couldn’t break down. Not yet. He could have a cry later.

“Mum’s with Ginny and George, somewhere safe. Dad’s in Azkaban, though hopefully not after tonight. Charlie’s abroad, trying to get foreign help, though it seems no one wants to touch Britain with a hundred kilometer pole. Percy’s… gone.” The way Bill said it left no doubt that Percival Weasley was no longer alive.

“Who else?” Ron asked, his throat closing around a lump as they entered the back door of the house.

“Lavender Brown, McGonagall, Seamus, and Kingsley all died the same night, most after You-Know-Who… killed Harry.” Hermione said, choking off briefly. “Professor Flitwick died fighting that week, along with a few students who were killed later that same week, trying to fight, still.

“Neville, your dad, Dedalus Diggle, Trelawny, and so many others have been caught, and either imprisoned, or killed. It’s been rather hard to keep track, as the papers are very limited about what information they’re allowed to print. We usually get a list of who’s been caught, who’s been sentenced. We’ve been assuming that if it doesn’t say they’ve been sent to Azkaban, they’re dead.” Hermione said, her head hanging, her bushy hair hiding her face, but Ron knew that she had tears on her face, just from her voice.

“What about my father?” Malfoy’s voice seemed to surprise them, and they looked at him, consideringly, Bill’s face holding a strange reluctance.

“He was put on trial. He’s alive, and still under You-Know-Who’s thumb. He managed to convince that evil demon that he had no part in you and Narcissa’s treachery, and publically disowned you both, to save his own skin.” Bill said, watching Malfoy carefully.

“Of course he did.” Malfoy said, his face holding no hint to his emotions. Ron could hear it in his voice though. He was hurt. Hurt, and angry.

“Where _are_ we?” Ron asked, looking around the brightly lit kitchen they stood in, squinting at all the brightness, despite the night sky outside.

“This is-” Hermione paused, staring at Malfoy again. “Can we trust him?” She asked, looking from Ron, to Bill, to Malfoy. Before she could answer, someone came around the corner, wand in hand.

“What’s your business here?” The unfamiliar man asked the bunch. Ron stared worriedly at the man, but Bill stepped forward.

“A day, a night, and a war.” He replied, then gave Malfoy a look. “Also, we’ll need a new password.”

“That Malfoy’s boy?” The man asked.

“Yup. Ron insisted we bring him.” Bill replied, sounding displeased. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do with him, yet.”

“You don’t have to _do_ anything with me.” Malfoy bit out, sounding peeved. “I get it. I’m not welcome. I’ll go.” He turned to leave, but Bill grabbed the back of his shirt, while Ron watched, concerned.

“Oh no. You’re not running off to tell them where we are. You’re staying right here, until the others get back, and we can talk about it.” He looked steely, and Malfoy went limp.

“Fine.” He said, his eyes darting to Ron, and away. “But just so you know, I’m not going back. Not ever.”

Ron looked understandingly at the blond. They’d killed his mother. He’d never feel the same about You-Know-Who, or that mark on his arm ever again.

“Well, come in, I guess. Get a shower, and clean clothes.” The strange wizard said, gesturing to his house. Ron and Malfoy shared a look, trying to determine if they were still friends, if they trusted one another.

“I’ll show you to your room. You can stay in the same one for now, we’re expecting to be a bit full after tonight.” Hermione said, walking further into the kitchen, and beckoning Ron and Malfoy to follow.

“Wait, before you go exploring, I want to put a safety measure in place.” Bill said, his eyes narrowing at Malfoy.

“What kind of safety measure?” Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowing right back, reminding Ron of the boy from school.

“A charm, to keep you in the house, at the very least.” Bill said, lifting his wand, almost menacingly.

“Fine, whatever makes you feel better.” Malfoy snipped, standing up straighter.

“ _Domustructura Capistruma_!” Bill said, circling his wand at Malfoy. A gold light formed from the tip, and trailed to Malfoy’s wrist, circling around, and settling against his skin, hardening into a gold bracelet.

“Happy now?” Malfoy asked, wiggling his wrist so the bracelet shook up and down.

“Hardly.” Bill said, and turned to walk from the room.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just worried about Fleur.” Hermione said, and led them from the kitchen, guiding them up a set of stairs, and to the second floor, where there were rows of closed white doors.

“This one’s yours. There’s only one bed, but it’s big. There’s a shower just down the hall, and men’s clothes in the closet.” Hermione said, gesturing to the door across the room. “There’s, um… Razors, and brushes, and such in the bathroom cabinets. Feel free to use anything.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Ron said, giving her a warm smile. He could hardly believe he was really here, away from that horrible place. The only reason he didn’t feel it was a dream, was that it was bright, and not anguish-inducing.

“Thanks.” Malfoy mumbled, looking around the pristine room, but not moving to touch anything.

“I’ll be downstairs, when you’re done. You look starved. I’ll make you some dinner.” She said, eyeing Ron’s thin frame unhappily.

“I am starving.” Ron agreed, grinning widely. He looked forward to real food. Hermione hugged him tightly, and gave him one last appraising look.

“I’m so happy you’re back, Ron.” She said, and left, shutting the door behind her. Ron stared after her a minute, and then turned to take in his new room.

He saw Malfoy staring around and decided he wasn’t ready for that discussion yet.

“I’m going to have a shower first.” Ron said, and hurried from the room, feeling his heart pound. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. He’d grown fond of the stranger in the cell next to his, but finding out it was Malfoy the whole time… He felt slightly betrayed. He’d known, the whole time. That’s why he hadn’t wanted to say who he was.

Ron found the bathroom, and locked the door behind himself, turning on the shower as hot as it would go, still feeling the chill from Azkaban under his skin. He stared at the mirror, taking in his reflection. There was a ginger mat on his face, just as filthy at his hair, which was equal parts plastered to his head, and sticking up in every direction. It practically reached his shoulders, and he dug through the drawers, finding a pair of shears to hack it off with. He started with the fringe in his eyes, snipping at it until it no longer obstructed his vision. Then went the locks near his ears, cutting out tangles, and messy clumps of filth. Then he went for the back, glaring at the mirror as he chopped away, not caring if it was even, or pleasant. He just wanted it gone. Someone could fix it for him later.

The mirror was steaming up, as he went at his face with the scissors, cutting his soiled beard as close as he could get to the skin. When he felt satisfied he could take no more off his face without hurting himself, he stripped the disgusting clothes, and hopped in the shower. He yelped, jumping right back out. Too hot. Way too hot. He turned it down, and stuck a hand in, testing it. Perfect. He jumped back in, and stood right under the water, rubbing it into his face, and hair, letting it run down his skin. He sighed, and grabbed the soap, using it liberally. Everywhere.

When he finally felt clean, and rather raw, he turned the water off, and shook his head, stepping out of the shower, to dry off. The towel was soft, and he pressed it into his face for a moment, enjoying the plush cotton. There was nothing in the world like a fresh towel.

He wrapped it around his hips, and dug around more, finding a proper razor. He found a can labeled shaving cream, and set it on the counter, trying to remember how his dad had done it. He’d never had to shave before. It couldn’t be that hard. He fiddled with cream, applying it to his chin and cheeks, and held the razor carefully, running it down his face.

There. Not hard at all.

By the time he walked back to his bedroom, he felt like a new man, clean, and ready to handle anything.

He stepped into the dark room, and frowned, slapping his hand along the wall, finding the switch, and turned the light on, looking for the blond he’d left alone.

Malfoy sat huddled in a corner, his face in his arms, looking tiny, and frail. He looked up when the lights went on, squinting, and taking in the sight of Ron, closing the door.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” Ron said, heading to the closet, his eyes staying on Malfoy.

“Alright.” Malfoy said, pushing himself to his feet, and leaving the room with stiff, pained movements. Ron watched him go, realizing for the first time, that he didn’t wear the Azkaban prison clothes. His were black, but too dirty to see any details. They might’ve been nice once, but no more. He was too thin, his pale skin waxy under the florescent lights. Ron felt sorry for him, and tried not to think of why he’d been hiding in the dark, in a corner. He could adjust back to real life. He would.


	6. The First Night

Draco sat in the dark, trying to calm his breathing as he huddled in the corner. The carpet was soft under him, the walls cool, but not frigid. He fought to keep his arms around himself, his fingers wanting to dig into the plaster, and wallpaper. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he heard Ron’s snores on the other side of the wall. He didn’t want to imagine he was back in Azkaban, but thinking of being there, almost appreciating being alive, was better than considering his future. He’d been planning on escape, and then immediate death. Being thrown suddenly into a normal world, where everyone knew him, and no one trusted him, was more painful than he’d thought possible. Ron hadn’t said anything yet, but he was certain that there would be a confrontation. It was just a matter of time.

The lights blazed, and Draco blinked up from his arms, meeting the blue gaze of his only friend. If they were still friends.

“Bathroom’s all yours.” Ron said, his eyes trained on Draco as he walked to the closet.

“Alright.” Malfoy said, trying to sound unconcerned. He stood, feeling the soreness in his joints from the running. The first time he’d really been on his feet in almost a year. He kept his eyes away from Ron as he left the room, trying not to see the differences. He didn’t want to think about things changing for them.

He entered the bathroom, and made a face instantly. Weasley had left hair all over the place, and the whole room seemed wet.

“How the hell…?” Malfoy muttered to himself, stepping across the wet floor with his bare feet, seeing water droplets even on the back of the door. That boy was an absolute savage.

Draco found the scissors, a razor, and shaving cream all still on the counter. He decided to shower first. He stripped his clothes, and stared briefly into the mirror, inspecting the changes the last year had made to his body. He was thin, his bones sticking out of his hips, ribs, and shoulders. He could see his whole spine, and he had almost no muscle definition. His hands were caked in dry blood from trying to follow Ron through the hole, and he’d gotten blood on his face. He grimaced, and got into the shower, turning the water on, to find it already warmed up to the perfect temperature. He ignored the bangle on his wrist as he scrubbed himself twice. He hissed as the water and soap stung his beat up hands and feet, but tried not to think about it, washing his hair out carefully, using extra conditioner, to get the tangles to cooperate when he finally brushed it. His hair was brushing his shoulders now, long enough to brush out of his face.

When he dried off, and stood in front of the mirror, he decided to keep the length, brushing his hair out gently, and leaving it to dry, as he splashed water in his face, and smeared shaving cream across his chin. His scraggly wisps of a beard were barely enough to warrant shaving, but shave he did, just like his father had taught him at sixteen. One of the last useful things his father had ever taught him. The cream and razor weren’t as nice as he was used to, but the application and use were generally the same. He rinsed his face, and went back to the bedroom.

He opened the door, and walked to the closet, a bit disappointed that he didn’t find Weasley behind either door. He quickly shuffled through the clothes, already feeling the chilly air nip at his freshly washed skin. It felt so much more sensitive after that scrubbing.

He pulled on a pair of black slacks, a black button-down, and even found a black vest to go with it. He was certain that all the black would make him look even paler, but he didn’t care. He was comfortable in black. He’d been wearing his grungy black silk pajamas for the past year. These clothes weren’t silk, or satin, or cashmere, but the cotton was clean, and warmed him. He still felt cold, and pulled out a black wool coat, socks, and the only slippers in the closet, which were bright blue. He pulled the socks on first, then the slippers, slipping his arms into the coat last.

He made it halfway to the door, before he kicked the hideous slippers off, the squishy feel on his feet too much, too soon. He felt undignified walking around in socks, but he didn’t think he’d be able to stand proper shoes either.

He made his way carefully down the stairs, gripping the rail the whole way, and following the sound of voices into a room to the right, back toward the kitchen. He found Bill, Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Mr. Weasley, the unfamiliar wizard who’d greeted them, and to his surprise, Severus Snape, all sitting around a table in a dining room right next to the kitchen.

“Professor?” He asked, staring at the man he’d been certain was dead. The Dark Lord had proclaimed he’d died in the fight.

“Draco. Sit.” The dark haired man commanded. Draco moved to the table and took a seat next to Ron, staring at the potions master. He barely noticed Mr. Weasley leaving the room for his own cleanup.

“I thought you were…”

“Dead? Yes, so did everyone else.” Snape cut across him, and fixed him with a look that made Draco snap his mouth shut. Ron stood, and Malfoy watched as he picked up a bowl, and ladled soup into it, setting it in front of Malfoy with a spoon, before sitting back down.

“Bread’s there. You can get it yourself.” Ron said, his voice holding the familiar teasing mockery that Malfoy had grown so accustomed to hearing through stone.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, lifting the spoon. He wasn’t sure he could eat as much as the redhead had set in front of him already. He decided not to try pushing it with bread. He sipped at the spoon, acutely aware that everyone was watching him. He kept his eyes on his food, not wanting to snap irritatedly at anyone.

“I agree, that we can’t be certain of his intentions, but there’s a very clear way to find out.” Snape continued some earlier conversation, and Malfoy realized it was about him.

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing.

“Veritaserum.” The potion’s master drawled, fixing her with a look that said she was a dunce. She flushed, and looked toward Malfoy.

“Will you take it willingly?” She asked, getting right to the center of things. Malfoy paused, and set his spoon down, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. If he said no, they’d never trust him. If he said yes, they probably still wouldn’t trust him.

“Yes.” he said it barely a whisper, his eyes lingering on Ron’s for a moment, before heading to Snape’s. “I’ll do it right now, if you want.”

“Very good.” The dark haired man praised, and pulled his wand out, waving it, to summon a small vial. Malfoy gulped uncomfortably, and watched as Snape uncorked it. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. The whole table watched, tense, as Snape offered him the vial. He took it, and picked his spoon back up, taking a bit of broth, and dropping a few crystal clear droplets of the potion onto it. He swallowed the spoonful, and handed the vial back to Snape, who vanished it, before turning to Malfoy, his face set.

“What’s your full name?” He asked, his eyes piercing Malfoy’s. Draco had no doubt that he was being mentally probed as he gave answers.

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

“What side of the war were you on?”

“The Dark Lord’s side, unwillingly, until the end of the battle at Hogwarts, when I switched, and tried to fight with the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Why did you switch?”

“He’s evil. I never wanted to follow him, but I did to protect my family. During the battle, I hoped he’d be defeated, and my family would be safe.” Malfoy felt his face scrunching with displeasure as he spoke.

“How do you feel about the Dark Lord now?” Snape asked, his eyes steely black.

“I hate him. I want to kill him, for murdering my mother. I never liked him, but after seeing that, I’ll do anything I can to end him.” Malfoy said, his voice dripping with poison. Everyone at the table was still and silent.

“Do you have any plans to work against the Order of the Phoenix?

“No. Nor will I ever again, unless it falls under the Dark Lord’s control.” Malfoy replied snippily.

“To whom are you loyal?” Snape asked, and Malfoy felt the words rising from his mouth, regardless of his attempts to stop them from coming out.

“Ron Weasley.”

“Why?”

“While in Azkaban, we talked through a hole in the wall, and built a friendship.” Malfoy glanced over at Ron, who was staring back at him, while all eyes shifted briefly to Ron.

“Any other pertinent questions?” Snape asked, glancing around the table. Malfoy looked worriedly around, hoping they didn’t ask anything terrible.

“Are you willing to work with us, to take him down?” Hermione asked, and Draco nodded.

“I am.”

“Are you going to hurt anyone on our side in the process?”

“I’m not a Seer. But I won’t do so without good cause. I’m not _that_ vile.” Malfoy said, making a face back at the older Weasley sibling.

“Will you betray my brother?” Bill Weasley asked, looking suspicious.

“Never.” Malfoy said, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks as he kept his eyes firmly away from Ron.

“Why are you so attached to Ron all of a sudden? You used to hate him. I don’t believe a few months talking to each other made you such great pals.” Hermione said bluntly, eyeing him warily.

“He kept me sane. Talking to him was the only good thing I’d experienced in nearly three years.” Malfoy said, glad that he wasn’t forced to elaborate. He didn’t want to go into detail about them crying together, or holding hands.

“You were only there for a year!” Hermione said belligerently, standing, and glaring at him.

“I know. But the two before that were complete garbage as well.” Malfoy said, keeping his face expressionless as he admitted this.

“Did you lie to me while we were in Azkaban?” Ron’s voice cut into the questioning, and Malfoy finally turned to him.

“Twice. You asked what I got to eat, and I told you ‘caviar and steak’.” Malfoy said, smirking at the memory. “The second time was right before this lot came. I said I was sorry. I wasn’t.”

He got a few angry looks, but Ron looked thoughtful, trying to remember it.

“Oh.” He said, recalling the contact through the wall, and how they’d both apologized for waking the other. Everyone at the table was angry, and Bill opened his mouth to asked why Malfoy was apologizing at all, but Ron stood up, and grabbed Malfoy by the arm. “I’d like a word in private.” He said to the table, glaring at them, daring them to say anything. Malfoy gladly followed the redhead into the kitchen, happy to escape the endless questions about his loyalties.

“Malfoy, why wouldn’t you tell me it was you?” Ron asked, staring the blond down, his blue eyes intent. Draco looked into his face, studying the changes for the first time. His cheeks were slightly hollow, his skin pale as death, even his freckles seemed to have faded. His chin was a scraped mess from shaving clumsily, and his hair was jagged, choppy, and obviously freshly cut. He’d picked out dark blue jeans, a red t-shirt, a light grey sweater, and a black leather coat over it. Malfoy appreciated the leather on the red head, admitting to himself that it looked nice, especially with that fierce look in his eyes.

“I needed a friend, and didn’t want you to hate me.” Malfoy finally answered.

“Are we really friends? Or was I just useful for your sanity?” Ron asked.

“I’d like to actually be friends, if that’s possible.” Draco admitted, feeling a flush sneak into his face again. “As long as you’re really the person I met in there, and not some cranky git.”

“Oi, call me cranky again!” Ron warned, but a smile twitched at his lips. He remembered. Malfoy had called him just that on several occasions in the cells.

“I’ll call you what you are, Weasley.” Malfoy said, fighting his own smirk to glare at his friend.

“Alright then, what were you apologizing for, exactly, when you lied to me?” Ron said, his smile fading, as he watched Draco’s face. Draco felt his face burn bright red as he was forced to answer.

“For holding your-”

“Shroge! We’re back!”

“-hand.”

The back door had been flung open, and Dean shouted from the back door, before his eyes registered the scene before him.

“What’s HE doing here!” Dean was instantly on guard, as Neville, and a mildly familiar witch entered behind him. Neville looked in nearly as bad a state as he and Ron had, and Malfoy felt bad for him.

“I’ve switched sides. I was in Azkaban, and this lot brought me here.” Malfoy was forced to answer, and turned back to Ron. “I’m still not sorry. I’m going to bed, before I’m forced to answer anymore stupid questions.”

He hurried from the room, just as the dining room group came down the hallway, toward the noise.

“Where’re YOU going?” Bill asked, stopping him in his tracks.

“To bed!” Malfoy said, trying to duck past the larger boy.

“What’s the hurry?” Bill shot at his back.

“I’m sick of the questions.” Malfoy answered, and groaned. He couldn’t say he was tired, could he? Of course not. Stupid potion. He practically ran up the stairs, and disappeared into the bedroom. He slid under the covers, coat and all, and buried his face in the crisp clean linen pillowcase. He didn’t bother with the light, feeling more comfortable in the dark, and glad to give his eyes a rest.

* * *

Ron sat at the table as Dean introduced Amelia Bones to him, a new Order member. Neville had gone upstairs to get cleaned up, and everyone was giving him odd looks.

“What was Malfoy talking about? What’s he not sorry about? Did he do something?” Dean asked, looking much too eager to hear about Malfoy’s faults.

“He didn’t do anything.” Ron denied, and finished his soup, pushing away from the table. “I’m tired, I’m going to bed.”

“But-” Hermione had barely started her argument by the time Ron was out of the room, and headed up the stairs. He felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people. Being alone for so long had really done a number on him. He opened the bedroom door, and closed it behind him as he entered, leaving the lights off, in case Malfoy was sleeping. His eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, and he saw the body-shaped lump under the sheets, telling him Malfoy wasn’t hiding in a corner again. He shuffled across the plush carpet, to the far side of the bed, and slid in, trying not to disturb Malfoy too much.

“Don’t worry, I’m awake.” The dour voice said from under the fluffy blanket. Ron shrugged to himself, and got comfortable, shucking his leather jacket, but leaving the rest on. He still somehow felt chilly.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I hope they didn’t get too mad that I left.” Malfoy mumbled, pulling the covers off of his head, exposing the blond hair, and thin face to the dim lighting.

“Nah, they’ll live.” Ron said, lying back, and clasping his hands behind his head, trying to get comfortable. The bed was squishy, and the pillows perfect. But somehow, it just wasn’t comfortable. He rolled to his side, facing Malfoy, and curled slightly, like he had in prison. Much better. The soft bed surrounded him, making him feel warm, and cocooned, and almost fetal.

“It was hard not to pick the walls earlier.” Malfoy confessed in an almost joking tone, his face darkening slightly.

“I know how you feel. Sitting at the table, I kept wanting to scratch it.” Ron admitted, realizing that it was something they wouldn’t have hesitated talking about in their cells, but now, facing each other, in a real house, in a real bed, it seemed almost personal to talk about. But the one person he _could_ talk to about it was Malfoy. The only one who would understand their habits from Azkaban and not question _why_.

“How’d you used to sleep? Before?” Malfoy asked, curious, having watched Ron try to get comfortable.

“I dunno. Different ways. Usually splayed, on my stomach, though, by the time I woke up. You?” Ron asked, seeing Malfoy curled in the exact same position he was, mimicked, even, to the hands under the pillow.

“Always on my back. Sometimes I’d be all over the place, or have a leg sticking out.” Malfoy said, smirking at the thought.

“Are you still cold?” Ron asked hesitantly, feeling his fingers already starting to chill under the pillow.

“Yeah. But I think I’m sweating, too, inside this coat. It’s weird, I can’t seem to really get warm.” Malfoy said, and Ron felt his hand reaching out, to touch the wool, and see if he was kidding. His fingers brushed the dark coat, and he pulled them back, laughing.

“You didn’t change, either?” He asked, shuffling his toes against each other, like he used to, to try warming them.

“No. Seemed kind of… pointless.” Malfoy said. “I’d be even colder, and then I’d have to change in the morning, too.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Ron said, wrapping his arms back around himself. “I wonder if the cold will last forever. It’s gotta go away sometime, right?”

“I don’t know. Did… Sirius Black ever talk about it?” He asked.

“No. No one ever talks about Azkaban.” Ron said, remembering how Hagrid had refused to, as well. “But they don’t all wear big winter coats all the time, so I imagine it does.”

“Good point.” Malfoy said, snuggling further into the bed, his head practically disappearing under the blanket again.

“Malfoy?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For not being a total prat, I mean.” Ron said, smiling across at the silvery eyes that peeked just above the blanket.

“You, too.” Malfoy’s eyes crinkled, and then lowered. “And… thanks for trusting me.”

“No problem.” Ron replied, closing his eyes, and finding that sleep came easier than expected, drifting him away on dreams, that for the first time in a year, were pleasant, and hopeful.


	7. Day One

Draco felt that warmth again. Just in his fingers. He pried his eyes open, feeling crust had formed overnight. He blinked away the grogginess, and discomfort, and fighting a yawn, looked across at a shock of red hair.

He sat bolt upright, his hand coming free from Weasley’s under the blanket, and he looked around the room. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real. He was really free. Well, as free as he could be, he thought, looking at the glint of gold on his wrist. He looked back down at the still sleeping Weasley, and smiled to himself. They’d gotten out. Together.

He stared down at the red hair, and pale skin, taking in the details he’d seen through a hole so many times, for the first time in sunlight. His hair had darkened and lost some of it’s luster in the black cells, but in the morning sun, it was still a vibrant, eye-catching orange. It was a mess of hacked off bits and a few missed tangles. His eyelids were a tired-looking lavender, his eyes looking almost sunken into his face. Malfoy lied back down, his panic erased, and his mind totally at ease.

He felt blindly around, until his fingers bumped Ron’s hand again. Almost as soon as their hands touched, Ron shifted, his hand stretching, his fingers twining with Malfoy’s. Malfoy closed his eyes, enjoying the small contact, and letting his new best friend’s warmth lull him back to an almost-sleep, where he dreamed, but still heard the birds chirping, and still felt the fingers clutching his.

“Hmm?” Ron’s voice filled the air, pulling Malfoy awake again, and he opened his eyes to see Ron blinking offendedly at the sunlight. He pulled his fingers away, his arms lifting in a wide stretch, and his mouth opening like a chasm, to yawn. “Whatime izzit?”

“No idea.” Malfoy yawned back, and covered his mouth with his freed hand. He slowly sat up, and stretched, feeling only a bit sore from running the previous night.

“Hungry?” Ron asked, bringing himself upright as well.

“Probably.” Malfoy answered, unable to really feel his stomach. The hunger pains had stopped before he and Ron had talked. Maybe he’d never be able to eat right again…

“I’m starving.” Ron said, rolling from the bed, and standing with a wince.

“Sore?” Malfoy asked, doing the same.

“Oh yeah.” Ron replied, rubbing down the front of his legs.

“Cold?” Malfoy asked, and Ron nodded, picking the leather jacket up off the floor, and donning it as he followed the blond.

They walked down the stairs and into the dining room, where there were already several people.

“Good morning.” Dean called cheerfully, from his seat next to Neville. Neville looked up, and watched Malfoy with guarded eyes. Another distrusting ally.

“Morning. Breakfast is almost done.” Hermione said, popping into the room, and setting a pitcher of juice on the table. Malfoy reached for it immediately, feeling his mouth suddenly turn to sand.

“Greedy much?” Dean mocked, watching him pour a glass of it as quickly as he could.

“You go without fresh water for a year. See if you’re a bit thirsty.” Malfoy sneered back. He wasn’t going to pretend to be nicer than he was. Ron knew him, and accepted him. Everyone else could get bent. Neville grabbed the pitcher from in front of Malfoy, pouring himself a drink, too, and slid it to Ron. Ron had nearly two glasses immediately, before letting anyone else have a go at the juice. Dean said nothing further about it, and continued to keep his mouth shut as they were joined by Mr. Weasley, who also seemed to zero in on the pitcher.

“How’d you boys sleep?” Mr. Weasley asked. Neville nodded mutely.

“Alright.” Ron replied easily, shrugging.

“Malfoy?” Mr. Weasley encouraged, setting down his glass, and fixing the young man with an expectant look. Malfoy looked at Dean, and then at the others.

“Alright.” He finally said. He couldn’t mention the cold, the warmth of Ron’s hand, the lack of nightmares. Not in front of them. They didn’t know.

“I slept like a baby. All that running tired me out.” Bill said entering the room, and taking a seat next to his father.

“Morning, Bill.”

“Morning dad.” They smiled at each other, and Malfoy looked away, sipping his juice, and trying not to be jealous.

“Breakfast!” Hermione announced, entering to room, preceded by a veritable swarm of flying trays, her wand keeping them all aloft, and guiding them to their places at the table.

“Ooh, looks delicious, Hermione!” Dean said eagerly, watching hungrily as the food was placed. Hermione took her seat as the boys dug in. Neville seemed almost self-conscious as he reached for a pancake, but Ron was practically snatching up sausages, bacon, and eggs. Mr. Weasley seemed equally as hungry, but showed more restraint, and Malfoy tried to follow his lead, pretending to have more of his old dignity than he felt. Malfoy wanted to ask Mr. Weasley and Neville how long they’d been in Azkaban, but after hearing Dean bring up Draco’s own incarceration, and knowing how it felt to be on the spot, stuck in awful memories, he decided not to be rude. The other’s didn’t mention it either. It was as though some unspoken rule had been set, not to discuss their time in the wizard’s prison.

Malfoy caught Neville stealing nervous glances in his direction, and tried not to feel guilty for how no one trusted him. He’d been right, talking to Ron that first time. Everyone hated him.

A swish of black pulled all eyes briefly to the door as Severus Snape entered, and took a seat near the head of the table, silently and with crisp movements, filling his own plate.

“How’re the others, Severus?” Hermione asked, shocking Draco with the familiarity.

“Resting. They should recover soon.” He answered, his eyes barely meeting hers, before going back to his plate dismissively.

“Who else got here last night?” Malfoy asked, curiosity taking hold, and the presence of his mentor loosening his jaw.

“Luna Lovegood and Hagrid managed to get Sturgis Podmore out, he’s in pretty bad shape. Been in since fifth year.” Hermione said, her face grim. “Then, Parvati came back with Dedalus Diggle. She won’t say what happened yet, but Mundungus wasn’t with them. I’m not sure if he got caught, or ran away, though I know which I suspect.” Hermione’s sour expression labeled Fletcher as a clear coward. “Diggle got hit with a hex, though, so he’s in nearly as bad of shape as Podmore.”

“That’s all?” Malfoy asked, worried.

“That’s all the people we’ve been able to locate. So many have just gone missing. Mundungus is the only one who hasn’t come back, so I’d say it was a hugely successful evening.” Bill said happily, as though Fletcher’s absence was only a step toward better.

Malfoy looked around the table again, meeting eyes with Ron, Mr. Weasley, and Neville. None of them could even imagine what shape Podmore must be in, spending nearly four years in the dark hole. Malfoy picked at his food, feeling nauseous with a full stomach after only a few bites.

“Me too.” Ron’s quiet whisper was barely audible over the noise of everyone talking, but Malfoy looked over to see that all the food Ron got was just sitting on his plate, barely touched. Malfoy smiled wanly at his friend, and poked his fork again at a clump of egg. He really did want more. But he was worried if he tried, he’d vomit.

“You should eat more.” Hermione’s voice called to the pair of them, her watchful eyes noticing the barely touched food. Malfoy just glared, and Ron flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be insensitive, Miss Granger.” Snape’s soft reprimand made her face turn red, and her eyes widen.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. I didn’t-. Sorry.” She mumbled, turning her face back to her own food.

“That’s okay, Hermione.” Ron said kindly, but Malfoy pushed away, not wanting to suffer any more stares, glares, or comments. He left the dining room, and decided to go back to bed, where it was slightly less cold.

He pulled the white curtains closed, trying to block out the light, and slid under the covers, pulling them right over his head, and encasing himself in warm darkness. It was warm around him, he could feel the heat building, but inside, he still felt half-frozen. He still fought shivers, and he knew he’d never be the same.

Before he knew it, tears were leaking from his eyes, and he was thinking dark things, feeling just as miserable in this prison of light as he had in the darkness. At least there, no one stared at him. He hadn’t had to deal with anyone’s hatred, or distrust. Here, he was as much a prisoner, with nicer furnishings, and surrounded by people who were even less appealing that being constantly alone. Maybe he was better of dead, afterall. Maybe that’s still all his future held.

* * *

Ron watched Malfoy leave, feeling a twist in his gut that had nothing to do with the greasy breakfast he’d tried to scarf down. The blond hadn’t looked anything more than irritated, but the silent way he left, Ron couldn’t help worrying. In the cells, he’d often been prone to bouts of immense depression, and uncontrollable sobs, unable to even speak as the misery encompassed him. Ron had felt similar at times, but had never been as susceptible to the level of absolute self-loathing he’d heard Malfoy expressing on the rare instances he could verbalize his emotional freefalls.

Ron pushed away from the table, and ignored the staring eyes, and half-formed questions as he headed toward his room. He knew that’s where he’d be. The hallway was silent, but as he opened the door, he heard the quiet whimpers. Malfoy was hiding under the covers, in the darkened room, trying not to cry.

Ron shut the door with a click, and the figure under the sheets went still, a sleek blonde forehead sticking up to see who’d entered. As soon as Malfoy caught sight of the redhead, he flopped right back down, and curled tighter in on himself. Ron stepped toward the bed, feeling empathy, and the need to help. He’d never been able to really comfort Malfoy with more than words before, but now, he slid into the bed on his own side, and said nothing, not needing to ask what was wrong. He’d heard the words enough in the cells, he knew exactly where Malfoy’s mind wandered when he felt alone and trapped.

Ron scooted close to the middle of the bed, and reached his hand out, finding Malfoy’s wool-coated shoulder. He ran his fingers gently down the man’s arm, searching. He felt skin, and curled his fingers through Malfoy’s feeling no shame as he comforted his latest friend the only way he knew how.

Malfoy’s fingers squeezed back, and his sobs got harder, more choking as the comforting touch seemed to release whatever he’d been holding back.

“They should just kill me, and get it over with!” Malfoy gasped pitifully through his tears. Ron squeezed harder, feeling his stomach churn uncomfortably. This was a new low, even for Malfoy.

“No.” Ron argued, feeling a spark of anger ignite within him. “You don’t deserve to die. I don’t either. We’re out now. And I’ll be damned if I let you get out of fighting that easily.” Malfoy’s sobs were broken with a few bursts of almost hysterical laughter.

“No, you wouldn’t, would you.” He managed, before his throat was constricted with gasps of pain. His hand was yanked away, and Malfoy rolled from the bed, practically running from the room. Ron dashed after him, scared by his sudden lurching escape.

“Are you alright?” He asked, following him to the bathroom, and catching the door before it could swing closed. Malfoy was crouched on the floor, spilling his breakfast into the toilet, with violent wretches. Ron stepped in and closed the bathroom door, leaning against it, and waiting for Malfoy to be done.

“I should’ve just had porridge.” Malfoy mumbled, trembling slightly as he reached up to flush the bowl.

“You can still have some, I bet.” Ron teased, bumping his foot into Malfoy’s leg.

“Oh no. I’m not eating anything else.” He growled, pulling himself up against the counter. And rinsing his mouth with water from the sink, spitting it back out.

“Better?” Ron asked, as Malfoy flopped back to the floor, and leaned against the wall next to him. The dark bathroom was small and comfortable. The soft drip of water from the recently used tap was almost soothing.

“I think so.” Malfoy said, wiping his mouth, and eyes on his sleeve. “But I don’t think I’m ready to suffer the masses quite yet.”

“Alright. Mind if I sit here with you awhile? It’s… Comfortable.”

“Sure. It even has the same damn dripping, and hard floors.” Malfoy chuckled. Ron grinned back, and leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes. His fingers twitched against the door, and a warmth slid over them.

“You’re scratching.” Malfoy admonished, his hand resting over Ron’s, to stop the movement. Ron held his hand still, and tried not to scratch, his fingers itching with the need to move. He flipped his hand upside down, and curled his anxious fingers around Malfoy’s, fiddling with the pale digits instead of the wall. Malfoy’s fingers moved, too, releasing their own habitual energy. They began pulling each other’s fingers playfully, slowly building the energy between them, until it became practically a thumb-wrestle, with multiple fingers.

“Ahh!” Malfoy groaned playfully, his whole hand fisting around Ron’s, triumphant for a brief moment, before Ron twisted his hand away, and pinned the pale fingers against the ground, his fingers twined through the other’s and wrapped around the palm, as Malfoy’s fingers flailed uselessly against the trap.

Ron loosened his fingers, enjoying how Malfoy’s curled easily around his own hand, relaxing again into the contact. Neither said anything as they sat, holding hands in the dark, enjoying the quiet drip of the faucet. Ron wondered if it was something they’d have done if they’d been left in the cells. Would they have still found relief like this? Through small doses of physical contact? He found himself wondering if they’d have slowly held more, and more of each other, the further they got through the wall.

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the strange thought of sleeping against Malfoy through the wall. It didn’t matter, they weren’t there anymore.

* * *

Draco watched Ron’s relaxed face as he leaned against the door, their hands gripping each other familiarly, some of the itch to scratch worked out in their small wrestle. The red hair fluffed slightly as his head shook, as though denying something.

“What are you thinking about?” Malfoy asked. It’d been a familiar question in the cells, one of the few that was asked more than once.

“Nothing.” Ron said, his face holding a trace of pink.

“Liar.” Malfoy said, closing his own eyes with a smirk, and turning his head to face away from his friend.

“I was thinking… How things would be if we weren’t here. If we were still digging that hole.” Ron answered, his fingers flexing around Malfoy’s.

“I’ve thought that, too.” Malfoy said, feeling slight embarrassment as the way he’d contemplated their sleeping arrangement. Would it have been similar if they’d actually gotten through the wall? They already slept against the wall, as near each other as possible. Would it have gotten closer, and closer, the more the hole grew? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure it really mattered. They were out.

“Do you ever… miss the hole?” Ron asked, haltingly.

“All the time. It was the only thing I had for a long time.” Malfoy answered, remembering the time before he’d gotten through, when it was just him, and that slowly growing dent.

“At least I got to take you with me.” Ron’s voice was quiet, and filled with emotion. Malfoy opened his eyes, and looked over to meet bright blue eyes.

“Thank you. For not leaving me. I don’t think I could’ve…” He stopped, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He didn’t need to say it, Ron understood, and nodded.

“Why were you all bloody?” He asked, surprising Malfoy. Draco remembered seeing the blood smeared on his face in the mirror last night. He remembered easily the panicked feeling of trying to follow.

“I saw you leaving, and panicked. I tried to tear the wall apart.” Malfoy said, lifting their combined hands, to display the fingernails even more broken than usual. Ron nodded, and let their hands drop back to the tiles. Silence surrounded them for a moment, quickly interrupted by the sound of feet. The footsteps approached the door, and a loud knocking made them both jump.

“I gotta go!” A voice called, knocking impatiently. Ron was already getting to his feet, pulling Malfoy up after him, their joined hands easily stabilizing each other as Ron reached for the handle.

“Calm down, we’re leaving.” He grumbled, releasing Malfoy’s hand just as Bill came into view.

“What’re you both doing in here?” He looked confusedly from Ron, to Malfoy, standing in the dark.

“Breakfast didn’t sit well.” Ron answered, and pushed past his brother. Draco followed close behind, grateful to Ron for not specifying who’s breakfast. Malfoy followed his friend back to their room, and right into the bed, glad for the warmth, and a chance to rest. He felt halfway to passing out, and buried his face in the plush pillow, stretching his arm halfway across the mattress, his hand invitingly open. Ron’s fingers twined through his almost instantly, the Weasley shuffling down in the bed to get comfortable on his side. Malfoy fell asleep almost immediately, lulled into a sweet dreamless slumber with the familiar breathing of Ron as a background.

* * *

“Dinner’s soon, are you-” Hermione’s voice cut off, as Draco jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, terror etched on his face. He looked around, panting, his hand squeezing almost painfully around Ron’s.

Ron sat up slower, his nap less deep, and less disoriented than Malfoy’s.

“Yeah, we’ll be down in a second.” He answered, squeezing Malfoy’s hand back, the motion hidden under the blankets.

“Alright. You might wanna wash up.” Hermione suggested, eyeing the ruffled blond hair, sleep-filled eyes, and shiny drool-spot on Draco’s face.

“Alright.” Ron agreed, finally letting go of Malfoy’s hand, and rolling from the bed. Hermione left them alone in the room, and Malfoy wiped at his face, the slime cooling, and leaving a frigid spot.

“Uugh.” He groaned, wiping at it with both sleeves, before rolling from the bed, and following Ron to the bathroom. He drug a brush through his messy hair while Ron washed his own face, and as Ron dried his face, he tugged the brush through the red hair once, playfully.

“Your hair’s still a mess.” He teased, leaving the brush imbedded in the coarse red locks, and leaning over to wash his own sleep-muddled face.

“You kept yours.” Ron noted, grabbing the brush from his hair, and yanking it roughly through the rest of his head. His hand flipped one of Malfoy’s long strands, playing back as he rubbed water across his face. Draco’s hair fell in his hand, getting soaked as he lifted handfuls or water toward his cheeks.

“Ah!” Malfoy dropped the water, and brushed the hair out of his way, giving Ron a glare through the mirror. Weasley just smirked, and set the brush down, not at all fooled by the look on Malfoy’s face.

“Cranky git.” Ron teased, leaving the bathroom. Draco couldn’t stop the smile that spread over his face, and hid it in a faceful of water, as though he could wash away the proof of his joviality. He needed to put his mask back in place before dinner, where he’d have to deal with arseholes, and idiots.

By the time he made it to the table, his face was impassive, even as his eyes darted around the table, panic rising inside him. Ron was surrounded on both sides, leaving no room for Malfoy to sit next to him. He kept the dismay from his features as he made his way to an empty chair on the other side of the table, as close as he could get, but still completely opposite his best friend.

“How was your nap, Ron?” Hermione asked, from her position on his left, almost directly in front of Malfoy.

“It was good. Apparently I was more tired than I thought.” He said, rolling his head around, as though still waking up. Malfoy dished himself some food, and tucked in, trying to ignore everyone at the table. He wasn’t sure how to talk to Ron from where he sat, and not be completely embarrassed. Nothing that seemed suitable for the table felt normal, and nothing he and Ron had talked about in the cells really seemed impersonal enough to bring up while surrounded by people. Even things that had been impersonal, or common knowledge seemed uncomfortable to discuss. As though, by bringing it up, he was letting the table in on their conversations in Azkaban. Ron had talked about his past on occasion, but Draco didn’t really feel like dealing with the looks he’d get if he interjected something that familiar into the conversation. It was as though everyone could see that they’d formed some strange friendship, but they didn’t understand, how, or why. They didn’t know that Ron and Malfoy had talked, cried, touched, and relied on each other for almost a year. They didn’t know about their desire to scratch at the wooden tabletop. They wouldn’t understand WHY Ron had told him about his fear of spiders. Or how Malfoy’s insides somersaulted when he heard “Oi, you.” come from across the table.

He looked up, instantly finding blue eyes, a smile twitching at his face.

“What?” He asked, narrowing his eyes in mock annoyance.

“Fancy a game of chess after dinner? Shroge says they’ve got a board.” Ron asked, nodding toward the welcome-wizard.

“As long as you’re not a sore loser, Weasley.” Malfoy agreed, his fingers twitching with the memory of their impromptu game earlier.

“Of course not, I never lose.” Ron said, grinning. Malfoy smirked back, trying on his favorite childhood expression. He could see heads turned in his direction, and ignored them.

“Just don’t flip the board when I win.” He snarked, and tilted his head back to his small dinner. The other conversations resumed, making Malfoy uncomfortable that he and Ron’s conversations were so baffling to everyone else that it actually paused all other topics. They really didn’t understand why their beloved friend, son, and brother would actually be friendly toward him.

“Are you good at chess, Draco?” Arthur Weasley asked, from his position to Ron’s right. Malfoy looked up again, slightly confused that he was being asked a polite, normal question.

“Er… I have been.” He said, realizing he hadn’t had a good game of it in several years. “I haven’t really played in years.”

“Well, I’m interested to see how you fare against Ron. He’s got a real knack for it.” Arthur said conversationally, his tone not at all bragging, but proud. Malfoy felt his stomach flip, remembering how his father had liked to brag to his own friends how perfect Draco was. He’d never really been proud though. Always telling him he was a disappointment in private, and singing his praises in public.

“Well, I’m done, anyway.” Ron said, expectantly scooting away from the table. Malfoy did the same, saying nothing as he followed Weasley from the dining room, trying his best to ignore the stares, as they left.

“Shroge said it was in here…” Ron mumbled, leading Malfoy into a sitting room, decorated with light colors, and wicker chairs. “Aha!” He pulled the chessboard from a bookshelf, and set it up on a coffee table, while Malfoy took a seat on the floor, tucking his legs under himself, and leaning his arms on the glass surface.

Ron sat opposite him, and began the game by moving a knight, clearly already having a strategy planned. Draco looked at the board for a moment, before he decided on how to start his own.

* * *

Nearly an hour and a half later, Malfoy groaned, as Ron cheered triumphantly, “Checkmate!”

“Well, looks like you were all talk, after all, Malfoy.” Hermione’s snarky observation came from a wicker chair near the window where she sat with her nose in a book. Malfoy glared over at her, and was about to offer a snide reply, but as soon as he opened his mouth, it stretched into a wide yawn.

“I’d offer another game, but I’m ready to drop.” Ron said, catching the contagion, his own mouth opening massively.

“Well then, get up to bed.” Mr. Weasley offered from a matching woven loveseat behind Ron. Malfoy stood, stretching his tingling legs as he fought another yawn.

“Night dad. Goodnight, Hermione.” Ron said, hugging his dad briefly, and following after Malfoy, who was halfway to the door.

“That was a good game.” He said contentedly, patting the blond on the back as they started up the stairs.

“It was. I don’t think I’ve had a challenge like that since playing my father.” Malfoy said, grinning openly as they escaped the watchful eyes.

“Oi, why don’t you do that more? They might not be so suspicious if you’d at least pretend to be human around them.” Ron said, nodding toward Malfoy’s smiling face.

“They’re not going to like me no matter what. So I’d rather keep to myself, thank you.” He replied testily, hopping in bed, and wiggling around to get comfortable.

“They might. Dad seems to like you fine.” Ron observed, climbing into his own side, and stretching his hand out, to find that Malfoy had already been waiting, his own arm extended expectantly. He grinned to himself, clasping the chilled fingers, and settling his head deeply into the plush pillow.

“I think your father’s just trying to be polite.” Malfoy said, shifting his legs.

“He’s not. He hates your dad, but I think he’s actually trying to give you a chance.” Ron said, closing his eyes to the dark room, and the building familiarity of the top of Malfoy’s blond head sticking out just above the blankets. He looked nearly like a snail, Ron thought sleepily, his hand tightening around Malfoy’s.

“I’ll try to be less alien, but-” a yawn interrupted him briefly, the blond head tilting slightly under the blanket. “But I don’t promise to like it.” Ron smiled at that, and let the soft breathing next to him pull him to sleep.


	8. Everyone Thinks They Know

Ron woke, feeling warmer on the outside than usual. His face was pressed into a hard surface, his front pressed flush against a source of heat. He slowly opened his eyes, flexing his hand, and feeling the familiar hand still weaved with his.

He stretched slightly, blinking the sleep away, realizing that there was black under his face, instead of the white pillows of the previous morning. He shifted, looking up confusedly, to see what he was laying on.

The face above his was scrunched, and the eyes fluttering as Malfoy gradually woke up. Ron froze, recognizing that he was snuggled up right next to Malfoy, his face resting on the wool-covered shoulder.

“Mm, Good morning, dear.” Malfoy’s raspy voice teased, and he grinned down at the redhead cuddling him. Ron groaned, and rolled away, untangling his fingers, and laying on his back for a minute, as Malfoy stretched, next to him, clearing his throat from the sleepy phlegm.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” Ron mumbled, not feeling the least bit remorseful as Malfoy rolled to his side, and looked at him.

“Don’t be. It was warm.” Malfoy shrugged, and closed his eyes again, as though going back to sleep.

“Fine, I’m not sorry.” Ron admitted, his face burning, feeling glad that Malfoy’s eyes were closed. If it’d been anyone else, he’d be mortified, but somehow, he couldn’t quite muster the humiliation.

“Are you going to try breakfast again?” Malfoy mumbled sleepily.

“I don’t know. I feel hungry, but I’m not sure I really want to risk it.” Ron said, picturing Malfoy bent over the loo, the previous morning.

“I’m not. I figure I’ll work slowly up to eating more. For now, I’ll stick with dinner, maybe a snack later.” Malfoy planned, smiling to himself at his strategy.

“That’s a good idea. I guess I’ll try it.” Ron agreed, tucking his hands under his head, and closing his eyes.

“Are you still cold, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, his voice mildly curious.

“Same as before. Only on the inside.” Ron answered quietly, feeling his skin prickle with sweat as he lay under the blankets, trying not to shiver.

“Same here.” Malfoy remarked, shuffling for comfort. “I’m not sure the coat’s helping.”

“So take it off.” Ron suggested, ignoring the way the bed suddenly shifted and rocked, as the sounds of Malfoy pulling the wool layer off, and flopped back down, re-wrapping himself in the blankets quickly.

“Less constricting, but overall, it feels the same.” Malfoy grunted, shuffling uncomfortably under the blanket.

“So put on pajamas.” Ron suggested, smirking into the pillow. It was strange to feel like pajamas were frivolous, and stupid. He’d used to love them, but now, he just wanted to be as warm as possible.

“No, I wore pajamas for a year. I think I’ll skip them for awhile.” Malfoy snipped back, shuffling determinedly under the blanket, making the bed wiggle.

“What’re you doing?” Ron asked after a moment, feeling irritated with the constant movement. It was jostling him aggravatingly.

“Taking- this… damn- thing, off.” Malfoy huffed, his arm finally sticking out, dropping a clump of black to the floor. Ron stared, unsure which piece of clothing it’d been. He almost wanted to reach his hand out, and see for himself, but he clenched his fingers into a fist, instead.

“Taking what damn thing off?” He asked, lifting a brow at the now-comfortable looking Malfoy. At least, what little he could see of him.

“That shirt. It kept twisting around me, without the coat.” Malfoy replied, rolling onto his back, and sticking his bare arms on top of the blanket, leaving his whole face bare for once as he closed his eyes, and tried to rest.

Ron stared at him for a moment, taking in the sight of his thin, bony arms. He was even smaller than Ron was, the dark circles under his eyes seemed a sharp contrast to the pale skin and hair. The long hair that fanned across the pillow hadn’t darkened with the lack of sun, but rather seemed to be more platinum than ever, nearly silver in it’s lack of color. His high cheekbones were more prominent than ever, his lips pale, and cracked from the imprisonment, looking in places like he’d bitten at them, leaving dark pink scabs against the white skin.

His hands looked the same, curled into loose fists over the blanket, the familiar fingers scabbed, and calloused from gouging the wall. Ron remembered his nightmare of those hands talking, and shuddered, staring at them for a long moment, before reaching for one. Malfoy stayed still, eyes closed as Ron wrapped his fingers around the closest hand, and turned it over, completing the inspection he’d never gotten to finish. It didn’t look nearly so scary in the soft sunlight filtering through the curtains. It looked like a hand, abused, and rough, but by no means malicious, or creepy. He slid his fingers through Malfoy’s, satisfied when Malfoy’s cooperated, bending to match his own. Ron closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of contact, familiarity, and heat.

A soft knock at the door woke him, and he realized he’d fallen asleep. Malfoy groaned, squeezing his hand tighter, and rolling to his side, as though he could make the knocking person go away by ignoring them.

“Yeah?” Ron called, sitting up, as the door opened.

His dad stepped slightly in the room, looking around as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.

“Are you coming down for lunch, or would you like more sleep?” his dad asked quietly, taking in the sleeping Malfoy, and quickly noticing their connected hands.

“Eh, we’ll be down.” Ron said, deciding if it was lunch time, they should get up. His dad nodded, and with a smile, left the room, closing the door behind him. Ron felt his face flushing slightly as he realized he was still holding Malfoy’s hand, on top of the blankets. “Come on, time to get up.” Ron encouraged, untwisting his fingers, and slipping out of bed.

“No.” Malfoy sounded childish, and pulled the blankets right over his head. Ron chuckled.

“Fine, have more of lie in.” Ron mocked, pulling his leather jacket on, and heading for the door.

“Wait! I’m coming…” Malfoy grumbled, sounding ticked off, as he stuck his feet on the floor, and snatched up his shirt, pulling it on, and doing the buttons with unhappy fingers, mumbling to himself the whole time. Ron waited at the door for him, watching him cover his exposed ribs, and jutting collarbones, getting re-dressed in his vest, and coat, before trudging toward the door.

Ron laughed at the miffed expression on his face, and the bedhead that topped the nearly full suit. He almost told him to brush his hair, but kept his mouth closed, thinking it provided him a more relatable appearance than usual. Maybe seeing him so ruffled would endear him to the others.

They walked to the dining room, and chose a pair of seats, the only two still open next to each other. Malfoy kept his annoyed look in place as sandwiches were served, and accompanied by a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Malfoy sipped at juice, but made no move toward food. Ron grabbed a single triangle of bread and filling, and took an experimental bite.

“Uhg, oh, no. Gross.” He complained, swallowing the bite bitterly, and opening the sandwich to pull tomatoes off. He set them on the side of his plate, and took another bite, happier with this one. He really hated tomatoes. A pale hand stretched out, stealing one of the red circles of vegetable from his dish, and he watched in disgust as Malfoy stuck it in his mouth, and chewed.

“Wha?” Malfoy shrugged, narrowing his eyes, and taking the second, adding it to his mouth, daring Ron to say anything. Ron lifted his eyebrows, and turned to take a third bite of his sandwich, choosing to say nothing about the blond eating the horrendous discards. Malfoy ate nothing else, only drinking juice to wash down the tomatoes with. Ron set the sandwich down after his fourth bite, deciding not to push his luck. He got his own juice, and turned to Malfoy.

“Wanna play another game?” He challenged, pushing away from the table. No one said anything about the half-eaten sandwich, and only a few pairs of eyes followed them from the room. Ron tried to keep his face calm as his father studied them briefly, his own mouth full of food. He was certain his dad had noticed them holding hands, but was glad he hadn’t said anything. He didn’t want people to stare at him and Malfoy anymore than they already did. They all seemed absolutely astounded that he was actually friends with the Slytherin. It was as though they were waiting for him to laugh, and tell them he’d got them, and wasn’t it a hilarious joke? Well it wasn’t going to happen. He set the chess board up, looking over at Malfoy, who sat patiently, his annoyance seeming to have evaporated. Was Malfoy his new best friend? Despite the guilt that tugged at his heart for befriending his and Harry's childhood nemesis, it really seemed like it, they were hardly ever apart now. He just couldn’t stand to be too far from the only person who knew about his need to pick at things, to hide in the dark, to talk about what had happened, and make sure it wasn’t some imaginary hellish fabrication. He just hoped that if Harry knew, he wouldn't have begrudged Ron this small measure of comfort.

“Ready?” Malfoy asked, cracking his knuckles, and staring intently at the board.

“Yeah.” Ron broke out of his musing and moved a pawn. He was a little surprised that he felt so close to his old enemy, but he could barely even relate this Malfoy to the one from school. It was as though a different person was living in the same body. But was it even the same body? They’d both changed so much…

“Check.” Malfoy announced, slipping a rook up the board.

“Damn.” Ron said, moving the only available block into place, his bishop.

“Mate.” Malfoy beamed, taking the bishop, and leaving his king unguarded, and unable to move.

“Damn!” Ron repeated, inspecting the board. It really was. And in under an hour. “No fair, I was distracted.” Ron complained, setting the pieces up again.

“By what, Weasley? The color of the carpet? Can’t decide if it’s cream, or champagne?” Malfoy teased, grabbing his own pieces to reset, eager for another round.

“It’s whiteish.” Ron shrugged, and glared at his friend. “And no, not by the carpet.”

“Well, better focus this time, It’d be a shame if I whooped you twice in a row.” Malfoy smirked.

“Oh, you wish.” Ron scoffed. A light glared on overhead, and both boys blinked, looking around. Mr. Weasley had entered the room, his hand on the lightswitch. Ron hadn’t even realized the light wasn’t on, so much sun coming through the thin curtains that he could see perfectly.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.” He said, taking a seat behind Ron again, ruffling his hair.

“No, you didn’t. It’s fine.” Malfoy said stiffly, his earlier smile slipped from his face, but his lips trying to curl back up, fakely.

“Good. Mind if I watch? Oh, you’re restarting? Who won?” Mr. Weasley blabbered, looking happily around.

“I did.” Malfoy said, a familiar smirk in place, and he gave Ron a gloating look. Ron made a face, and moved a pawn.

“Oh, that’s very good.” Mr. Weasley congratulated the blond, his eyes watching as slim white fingers moved a black piece. As they got further into the game, Bill joined them, sitting next to his father, and occasionally glancing at the board as he looked over what appeared to be a map. Though it wasn’t a map of anywhere Ron recognized.

“Check.” Malfoy said, looking smug.

“Ha, checkmate.” Ron replied, moving his king, and opening a path from his bishop, to Draco’s king. Malfoy peered closer, he was surrounded by a bishop, a pawn, and Ron’s queen. Damn.

“‘No fair, I was distracted’” Malfoy mimicked Ron. Ron sniggered, and Bill looked between them, as though deciding whether to call out Malfoy or not.

“Fair enough.” Ron said.

“Before you two start again, could I have a word, Ron?” Bill said, giving Malfoy a look that said ‘without you’.

“Sure.” Ron said, standing, and rubbing his bum, which had fallen asleep as they played.

He followed his brother into the hallway, and halfway up the hall, away from the sitting room, where anyone could hear.

“I know he answered those question under Veritaserum, but are you SURE you can trust him?” Bill asked bluntly, “Are you sure he’s not going to have another change of heart?”

“I’m sure.” Ron said, fixing his older brother with a confident look. “He’s changed, Bill. He acts like a prat because none of you are even trying to give him a chance, but when you’re not around he’s a totally different person. He’s not one of them anymore.” Ron defended his friend. “If you can trust Snape, why not Malfoy?”

“Snape has proven himself. He changed sides a long time ago. Malfoy, I’m not sure about. I just… Don’t want you to get hurt for trusting him.” Bill said, sounding more worried than Ron had ever heard his brother sound before.

“Bill. I swear. He’s different now. If he wasn’t before… Azkaban definitely did the job.” Ron whispered, trying to get his brother to understand. “You weren’t in there. You don’t know what it’s like. I do. And I trust him. He’s lost just as much as the rest of us, because of You-Know-Who. Please give him a chance?” Ron begged, knowing how much better off Malfoy’s mental state would be if he was given the benefit of the doubt. He might even start feeling like he deserved life. He’d managed to stop his breakdown yesterday, but Ron knew from experience that his self loathing was always just under the surface, waiting to spring up and consume him. He’d been privy to several similar fits while in his cell, except then, he hadn’t been able to do more than offer words of comfort and distraction.

“I’ll try, Ron. But I don’t want him around Fleur. I wanted to talk to you about her for a minute, actually. I have something to tell you.” His face was turning up in a grin, and Ron felt Malfoy’s snarkiness come up in a reply.

“I already know you married her. I was there, Bill.” He joked, cutting through the tension he felt at Bill’s words.

“She’s pregnant. Ron, I’m going to be a dad!” Bill sounded like a little kid at christmas. Ron’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he gaped at his brother.

“She’s what?!” He asked, his voice carrying to the next room.

“Shh!” Bill hissed, eying the doorway through which Malfoy and their dad were waiting.

“She’s really gonna pop?” Ron asked rudely, thinking back, to how she was still the same size.

“It’s not that far along yet, but Mum, Ginny, and George know. I haven’t had a chance to tell dad. But that’s where they are, getting a different safe house ready, for her to go to, where she’ll be safe from the war. She’s going to live in America, at least until the baby’s born. After that, I’m not sure. I hope this damn war’s won by then.” Bill said, running a hand through his long red hair. Ron continued gaping at his oldest brother.

“Oh, shut your mouth, before a nargle flies in.” Bill said, shoving Ron’s shoulder playfully.

“You’ve been listening to Luna, too much.” Ron said, frowning at the mention of imaginary creatures. “But I’ll keep my mouth shut until you decide to tell dad.” Ron promised. “I guess you don’t want me telling Malfoy, either?”

“No, please. I don’t want too many people to know. It’s kind of… A secret. I don’t want them to become a target, if someone’s put under the cruciatus curse.” Bill said worriedly. Ron nodded, realizing why his brother had been acting so strangely, and threateningly. He was stressed about Fleur, and becoming a dad.

“Are you going to go with her?” Ron asked, feeling a bit jealous about being able to escape to America. Maybe they should all just leave. But no, they couldn’t. That would leave every muggle in Britain wide open to the dark wizards.

“No. Mum’s going to stay with her, and I’ll be able to visit, but Mostly I’ll be here, fighting, plotting…” Bill trailed off, and Ron nodded.

“Alright. Well, congratulations!” He said, slapping his brother on the arm jovially.

“Thanks. And thanks for keeping it quiet.” Bill said, ruffling his brother’s hair, and then pulling an amused face. “Is this a fashion statement, or do you need a haircut?” He asked, his hand leaving Ron’s hair.

“Oh, yeah. I meant to get help with that.” Ron said sheepishly, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Talk to Hermione, mum’s been teaching her all sorts of domestic spells, since she’ll be gone with Fleur.” Bill said,

“Alright, thanks, I will.” Ron said, giving his brother an appreciative smile, and heading back to the sitting room.

* * *

Malfoy watched his friend leave, slim fingers rubbing an obviously sleeping rear, as he followed his brother.

“So, Mr. Malfoy, I hear from Snape that you underwent an interrogation with Veritaserum?” Mr. Weasley asked, leaning back in the couch, and Malfoy fiddled with the carpet.

“I did.” Draco said shortly, keeping his eyes away from the older man’s. He really didn’t want to have this conversation again.

“So, can I ask.. are you and my son… more than friends?”

Malfoy’s head jerked up, and he stared at Mr. Malfoy with horror.

“What!?” He asked, feeling suddenly trapped in the bright room. “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what he’d meant, but couldn’t really believe Ron’s father was asking that.

“You and Ron seem very close. I was just wondering if… it went beyond friendship.” Mr. Weasley hedged, his own eyes avoiding Malfoy’s his fingers brushing imaginary dust from the couch.

“No!” Malfoy said, glaring at the elder. “Why would you think that?”

“Well… I saw you holding hands this morning.” He had the grace to sound and look mildly guilty. Draco huffed out his anger, and took a deep breath, trying to remember what he’d promised Ron last night. He’d try to be nicer.

“It’s not like that.” Malfoy said, his face burning bright red. “It’s just… something we do.”

“Ah. Well, they told me you two met in Azkaban, but that’s impossible. Could you elaborate, please?” He seemed genuinely intrigued, not blaming, or searching for a flaw in the story.

“Our cells were next to each other, and there was a hole in the wall.” Malfoy answered, feeling uncomfortable talking about it. He didn’t want to admit that they’d created the hole, that they’d held hands through it as they slept. That they’d cried together, with only that hole for comfort.

“Oh. I see.” Mr. Weasley said, not delving further into the subject, seeming to follow the silent rule of keeping most Azkaban experiences to one’s self. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m not trying to criticize. I’m grateful Ron had your company. You two seem to be better off for it.”

Draco watched Mr. Weasley for a second, studying his face, seeing only kindness, and a bit of shame.

“Thank you.” he finally replied, ducking his head, and trying to keep the redness from his face. Ron was lucky to have a father like him. Understanding, caring, and honest.

“You’re picking at the carpet.” Ron’s voice startled Malfoy, and he pulled his fingers up, looking at the small furrow he’d been trying to create without paying attention. Ron sat back down in front of his dad, eyeing the chessboard for a moment, trying to decide on a new approach. Neither Draco, nor Arthur said anything about their conversation, or asked about Ron and Bill’s, each man absorbed in their own thoughts as Ron and Draco began their game.

Draco watched Ron’s face as they played, thinking over what his father had said. They were both better than they would have been if left totally alone. He remembered how very close to the brink Ron had been when he’d first talked to him. He’d seemed to think he was hearing voices, and was mumbling to himself, without even seeming to realize it. He hadn’t had the hole then. He’d only had his own guilt, and misery.

Malfoy thought about Mr. Weasley’s assumption, and felt bad for reacting so poorly. If he’d seen two blokes holding hands on a bed, he probably would’ve thought the same thing. Hell, he’d woken up with Weasley practically on top of him, didn’t that raise it’s own questions? Or was it even more curious that Malfoy hadn’t been at all upset by it? He’d actually rather enjoyed the feeling of Ron’s warmth, and the weight of his head. He’d never slept with anyone before, but he figured that there were apparently more reasons than sex to do so. The constant contact really was nice. Was that why everyone else seemed to actually show affection through touching, and hugging, and kissing? His parents hadn’t ever really been physically affectionate, besides his mother when he was a small child, but that had dwindled as he’d grown, until he was totally cut off from human contact, besides fighting, or the occasional snog with Pansy.

“Check.” Ron said, and Malfoy looked closely at the board, coming free from his confusing thoughts. He was almost trapped. He quickly found his way free, and turned the tables.

“Check.” He said, sliding his queen up the board.

“Check.” Ron replied smugly, taking the queen with his knight.

“Check.” Malfoy took the knight with a bishop.

“Check.” Ron took the bishop with a another. Malfoy squinted at the board, seeing a symmetry he hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s a stalemate.” He said, leaning back, and sighing. “We’ve done the exact same thing, there’s no winning.”

“What?” Ron sat up, looking at the top of the board. “Bloody hell.” He sat back down, glaring at the board as though it was at fault.

“Well done, boys.” Mr. Weasley said, his eyes darting to a clock on the wall. “I think dinner will be soon if you want to stop.”

“Great.” Malfoy said, stretching to his feet, and shaking his sleeping leg, wincing at the discomfort.

Ron stood, rubbing his bum again. Draco’s mind skipped to his dad’s assumption, and he yanked his eyes away from the movement. Malfoy leaned over, and cleared up the chessboard, folding it in half, and dumping the pieces inside.

“I’ll have to see if I can find you boys a Wizard’s Chess set.” Mr. Weasley said, following the pair from the room.

“That’d be great, dad!” Ron said enthusiastically. Malfoy agreed quietly, watching his feet as he walked, not wanting to look at either Weasley. He hadn’t really felt embarrassed by how close he and Ron had gotten, until his dad had misinterpreted it. But now, he couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how they touched, and joked, and how things would’ve been in Azkaban. He couldn’t stop thinking about if Mr. Weasley was right. Were they more than friends? He hadn’t thought so. Did he even fancy men? He hadn’t really thought about that before, being equally disgusted by both girls, and boys in school, his limited circle of friends not offering him much of a choice.

They sat down to a soup, with salad, and pieces of bread. Malfoy had a small bowl of soup, sipping it slowly through dinner, trying to actually pay attention to the conversations around the table, if only to distract himself from his uncomfortable inner reflection.

“Before you get full, I’d like you to drink this potion.” Snape said, sliding a small vial across the table to Malfoy. He slid identical ones to Ron, Neville, and Mr. Weasley.

“What is it?” Ron asked, eying the murky liquid dubiously. Malfoy didn’t care, he uncorked it, and downed it in a single gulp, barely tasting the fiery flavor.

“It’ll help you get your strength back.” Snape said dully, attending to his own dinner again. Mr. Weasley followed Malfoy’s lead, swallowing it down instantly, while Ron sipped at it, and Neville waited a few moments, watching Malfoy to see if there were any adverse effects, before taking his own.

“Ahh, it burns!” Ron gasped, setting the bottle down, and taking a swig of water.

“That’ll make it worse!” Hermione warned too late. Ron practically howled with discomfort, his eyes watering. Malfoy sniggered as Ron held his tongue out, dramatically fanning it.

“Oh, don’t be such sissy!” Bill called amusedly, a grin splitting his face.

“Thuddup, Biww!” Ron managed with his tongue out, and grabbed the bottle, downing the rest of it quickly with a face. A few others at the table chuckled, and Malfoy looked around, taking in how full it was for the first real time. With fourteen people, there wasn’t an empty chair at the large oval table, and almost every face was familiar. He wasn’t exactly sure who ‘Shroge’ was, but he seemed nice enough, and the other witch he didn’t know was about his parent’s age, and seemed somehow familiar. He caught her looking at him a few times, with a contemplative look. Perhaps she worked at the ministry, and knew his father, he decided. He took a sip of his soup, and looked back at Ron, forgetting for a moment how the sight of those blue eyes brought up confusing thoughts.

“How did you not feel that?” Ron asked, catching his eye, and nodding to the potion. Malfoy shrugged, looking away quickly, focusing on the grain of the table. No, he wouldn’t think about what Mr. Weasley had assumed. He wouldn’t over analyze the things they did. He liked doing them, and there was nothing wrong with it.

“I drank it too quickly to taste it.” He finally answered, and took another sip of soup. “I felt it in my throat a bit, but that’s it.”

“Lucky. It was awful.” Ron lamented, taking large spoonfuls of his own broth.

“Entertaining, though.” Malfoy teased, smirking.

“Shove off.” Ron glared at him, but his eyes sparkled good-naturedly. “Oh, that’s right. Hermione, could you fix my hair later?” He shot across the table.

“Of course.” Hermione said, smiling at him. Her eyes went from his, to Malfoy’s and he thought he saw something as she met his gaze. Was that… guilt? Jealousy? He couldn’t tell, but soon enough, she pulled her look away, and turned to chat with Snape.

“I figure it’s about time to get this sorted.” Ron said, touching his mess of hair. “She’d probably do yours, too, if you ask.”

“No, I think I like it.” Malfoy said, touching his own hair. He’d gotten used to feeling it brush his shoulders, face, and neck. It was finally long enough that it didn’t poke in his ears uncomfortably, or hang totally in his face. He swept it to the side, and it stayed, for the most part.

“I do too. It looks kind of fancy.” Ron said, eyeing it with a smile.

“Thanks.” Draco turned his head, purposefully giving it a small shake, so his hair fell as a curtain to hide his pink cheeks as he bent over his soup.

“Careful, or you’ll eat your hair.” Ron warned, chuckling at the thought. Draco grinned.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll have a nice wash before bed. I believe I’m expecting my wife tomorrow.” Mr. Weasley said, sounding excited, as he stood from the table. Malfoy watched him go, thinking a shower before bed did sound nice. Maybe he’d have one while Weasley got his hair fixed.

* * *

Ron watched Malfoy duck his head, hiding behind a curtain of blond. Was he… embarrassed? Ron smirked at the thought of compliments making the man uncomfortable, when he used to be so full of his own self that it was a wonder his head hadn’t exploded.

Malfoy was watching his dad leave, with a thoughtful look on his face.

“What’re you thinking?” Ron asked quietly, ducking the question under the other conversations, giving Malfoy the chance to answer, or decline, without drawing unwanted attention.

“I think I’ll have a shower, later, too.” He answered, his eyes glazing over slightly.

“Mm, does seem nice, doesn’t it. But weird though, that it’s just… there. Whenever you want.” Ron said, having forgotten that the shower even existed.

“A bit weird.” Malfoy agreed, his voice low, matching Ron’s. They sank into comfortable silence with each other, as the rest of the table finished dinner.

“I’m ready whenever you are, Ron.” Hermione said, pushing herself away from the table, and standing.

“Alright. Let’s do this.” He said, following her from the room. She led him into the kitchen, and conjured a chair for him to sit in. He sat without being told, feeling a bit nervous as she walked around him, inspecting his hair.

“I really wish you’d have asked before you went hacking at it.” she stated, running a hand through it, and pulling her wand out. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not as good as your mum.”

“Whatever is fine with me.” Ron said hastily, feeling a bit bad for making such a mess of his hair.

“Hold still.” Hermione advised, and he went rigid. He could feel her shuffling through his hair with her wand and fingers, trimming his hair silently as he sat stock-still.

“I actually wanted to talk to you, Ron.” She said from behind him, making him instantly nervous. He’d been hoping this conversation wouldn’t happen. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk about the kiss they’d shared in the Chamber of Secrets. He wasn’t really sure how he felt about her, and after spending a year in Azkaban, he wasn’t sure if he even deserved to feel for her, at all.

“About what?” Ron forced himself to ask, swallowing the anxiety down.

“About… Us.” Hermione confirmed his fears.

“Hermione…” He started, but was silenced quickly.

“Please, Ron, I’ve got to say this.” She waited, to see if he’d still avoid the conversation.

“Alright.” He finally agreed, trying to tamp down his nerves.

“I know we… kissed. And I don’t know what happened in Azkaban… but it’s been nearly a year since then, and… A lot’s changed, Ron. I don’t want to hurt you, but… I also can’t stand lying to you. So, here it is: I’m seeing someone.”

Ron sat frozen, thinking that over as she continued trimming his hair, waiting for a response. He felt a stab of jealousy, but it went away quickly, as he thought harder. He didn’t have to figure out how he felt about her, after all. She’d already made a decision.

“That’s nice. Good.” he said, deciding that he wouldn’t be difficult about it. There was already enough stress, and he needed to fix himself.

“Are you… are you upset?” She asked, her wand dropping away from his hair, as she rounded the chair, to look him in the face.

“No. A bit surprised, but I’m not mad or anything. I wasn’t really thinking about… relationships, while I was in there.” He said, remembering how he hadn’t even thought he’d live beyond the walls. He’d planned to die, and hadn’t thought about what would’ve happened if he’d gotten out.

“Oh. Well, I guess that’s… good?” She seemed uncertain, and lifted her wand to fix his fringe.

“Who is it?” Ron asked, curiously, remembering Dean, and feeling like he wouldn’t be so upset at that. Dean was a good guy.

“It’s… um…” she quickly finished his hair, and stood back a step, inspecting him for a moment, before answering, making his curiosity and nervousness grow with every second. “It’s Snape.”

“Who?” She’d been barely loud enough to hear, but he’d thought he heard ‘Snape’. What a laugh that’ve been.

“I’m dating Snape.” She said more confidently. He blinked at her, his smile falling, realizing she was totally serious.

“You’re… not joking.” He said, feeling distaste set in. “What do you mean, ‘dating’? Not like, actually boyfriend/girlfriend, snogging and- and… You can’t be serious!” Ron said, standing from the chair, unable to believe it. Sure, he’d proven to be on their side, but he was still a slimy git. And he was at least twice her age.

“I am serious. We’ve been on the run together since the battle. I found him in the shrieking shack, and saved his life. Since then, we just… got closer.” She shrugged, as though it was no big deal. “We actually have quite a lot in common.”

“And what about the things that aren’t ‘in common’? Like your age?” Ron shot at her, feeling horrified at the thought of her with Snape. She HAD to be joking.

“That’s something for he and I to work out, if it ever becomes an issue.” Hermione said, her voice steely.

“But, but… He’s… Snape!” Ron was still unable to wrap his head around it.

“What about you and Malfoy? Is that any less surprising that Severus and I?” She asked, her cheeks flaming.

“Malfoy and I aren’t… dating.” Ron said, unable to help the frown that came over his face as he once again thought of Hermione dating Snape. Calling him Severus.

“Really?” Hermione seemed genuinely confused by his statement, and he paused his bickering to realize what she’d just implied.

“Wait… You thought… He and I…?”

“Well, you two are… rather close.” Hermione said, her brow furrowing as she tried to be tactful. Ron felt his face burn, recalling how he’d woken up that morning, cuddled right up to the blond.

“Well, you’re wrong. We’re just friends. There’s nothing funny going on between us!” Ron denied adamantly, his face turning a bright scarlet as he thought more about how he and Malfoy had been rather physical since getting out. But holding hands, and accidentally rolling against him in his sleep didn’t count as ‘dating’. Though, it might fit into ‘more than friends’. He shook his head free of the thought.

“Oh really? Nothing funny? Your face says you’re lying.” Hermione noted, smirking, and leaning back against the sink. “Also, I should probably warn you, I’ve been learning legilimency from Severus this past year. I can definitely tell there’s something there.”

Ron’s face flamed so hard, he felt his ears burning with the blush.

“That something might be Azkaban. It might be horrible experiences that no one else but him knows about! It might be a year of having only him to talk to, and not whatever you seem to think it is.

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry, okay?” Hermione said, suddenly contrite, as he breathed heavily. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… wanted to be clear where things stood.”

“Right. Thanks for the haircut, I think I’ll go have a shower.” Ron grumbled, and left the kitchen, feeling embarrassed, and guilty for exploding at her like that. It wasn’t her fault that he and Malfoy had spent so much time alone together. She didn’t know about the hand-holding, or the cuddling. She didn’t know about the crying, or the humiliating secrets they’d shared. He couldn’t blame her for trying to define in normal terms something that was so very far from normal. He shuffled up the stairs, and found the bathroom door shut, the sound of water running inside. He went to his bedroom, and paused at the door. He flipped the light on, and sat in a plush chair near the closet. He could at least be a bit normal again. Or at least, he could pretend he didn’t want to hide under the blankets in the dark, until Malfoy came back.

Maybe Hermione had been right. Maybe there was more there than he’d been seeing. He wondered if anyone else saw them like she did. She’d probably told Snape, he thought bitterly. He scratched at his neck, feeling an irritating itch under his collar as he contemplated what Hermione had said. Did he fancy Malfoy like that? He hadn’t ever thought about it, but he did enjoy holding hands. And yes, he admitted to himself, he’d enjoyed the feeling of sleeping against him. Would he enjoy more? Did he want to kiss Malfoy? Ha, that was a funny thought. Kiss Malfoy. He laughed to himself, and sighed. He just wasn’t sure. The idea didn’t immediately repulse him, like Snape and Hermione had. Maybe he was interested in Malfoy. He scratched his neck again, feeling the itch migrating to his shoulders. The damn hairs from his haircut were getting on his nerves.

“What’re you thinking about?” He jumped, looking up to see that Malfoy had entered the room without him noticing, and was halfway across the floor, with a towel held around his hips.

“I was just thinking that I need a shower. There’s hair leftover, and it’s itchy as hell.” Ron said, trying to shove down his thoughts before that. He couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling briefly down Malfoy’s torso, trying to puzzle out whether he found him attractive. He just looked thin, and fragile. Breakable.

“Well, better hurry before someone else steals it.” Malfoy said, nodding to the door as he opened the closet, and stepped inside. Ron stood, and went to the bathroom, turning the water on, and pulling his shirt and jacket over his head, before pausing, to inspect his new hair. It was much more even, and looked nearly like a real hairstyle. He shrugged, and dropped his jeans, stepping into the warm shower, and letting the water wash the tickling hairs from his shoulders, and face. He couldn’t wash his conversation with Hermione away, though, and it kept swirling around in his head. He should apologize to her tomorrow, he decided.

* * *

Draco stepped into the room, and saw Ron sitting in the chair, looking deep in thought, his brow scrunched. His hand lifted, and he scratched the back of his neck. His haircut looked better, much more even.

“What’re you thinking about?” Draco asked, fighting a smirk when Ron jumped nearly a foot in the air.

“I was just thinking that I need a shower. There’s hair leftover, and it’s itchy as hell.” Ron replied. Draco lifted an eyebrow, doubting that that was really it. He didn’t say anything about it as he walked toward the closet, but he saw Ron’s eyes dart down, looking him over. He thought back to what Mr. Weasley had said. Did Ron think he was attractive? His eyes held none of the familiar lust that Draco knew girls’ used to have when looking at him.

“Well, you better hurry before someone else steals it.” He said, tilting his head toward the door, and disappearing inside the closet. Weasley had just looked at him. Just looked, that was all. So why couldn’t he shake the conversation he and Mr. Weasley had had? He didn’t think of Ron like that. Or at least, he hadn’t before. But since that ginger man put the thought in his head, it’d been rather hard NOT to think of his friend in a more than friendly way.

He pulled down a pair of black jeans, and a matching t-shirt, and boxers. He pulled them on before looking for a jacket to cover his already chilled arms. He found a hoodie with black and grey stripes, and pulled it on, chuckling to himself as he finally donned his Azkaban Prison stripes. He slid into the bed, leaving the light on for Ron, as he tried to get comfortable. The jeans weren’t as soft as the slacks had been, but they were warmer. He lay there, nearly comfortable, when he felt his toes start to get cold. He groaned, rolling his eyes as he realized he’d have to get up to get socks.

The door opened before he could actually get up, and he sat up, watching Ron enter, in his own towel, his hair still dripping.

“Did you dry your hair at all?” Malfoy asked, his eyes doing the same as Ron’s, traveling down the long torso, trying to decide if he really did like his friend. His whole chest was covered with water droplets. “Or any of the rest of you?” Malfoy added, as Ron threw him a nasty look.

“I dried off.” He said, though Draco wasn’t sure if he believed it or not. He yanked the closet open, and stepped inside.

“Can you toss me some socks?” He called, hoping he didn’t have to get up. Ron stuck his head out, grinned, and then disappeared for a half second, reappearing, and tossing a tiny wad at Draco. He picked up the socks from the bed, and made a face at the bright yellow color. He pulled them on, regardless, his feet too cold to argue about aesthetics.

“Thanks.” He called sarcastically to the closet, glaring at his toes for a minute, encased in mustard yellow cotton.

“No problem.” Ron called back, laughing quietly. Malfoy snuggled back into the bed, and tried not to think about his conversation with Mr. Weasley. He was about to be in bed with Ron, and didn’t want to be thinking about anything awkward while forced into such close proximity.

Ron came back out of the closet, and Malfoy grimaced at the outfit he’d chosen. Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a hideous yellow cardigan. Malfoy saw black socks on his feet as he slid into the bed, and glared across at the prank. Was Ron trying to get him to ask to switch? He frowned harder, determined not to, even though their socks would be better matched on each other. He fought back the demand, and tried to wipe the frown from his face, as Weasley turned toward him.

“Something wrong, Malfoy?” Ron egged, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“That sweater is awful.” Malfoy said, his lip lifting with distaste.

“I like it.” Ron argued, looking his sleeve over with affection.

“That says more about your taste than the sweater.” Malfoy noted, instantly hating the twisty square pattern woven into it.

“Get bent.” Ron said with no real annoyance, scooting around, until he was finally comfortable. Malfoy watched from his blanket cocoon as Ron settled in, tucking his hands under the pillow, and eyes closed.

“What about the light?” Malfoy asked, waiting ‘til he’d stopped moving to mention it.

“Oh, right.” Ron groaned, and slid from the bed. Draco grinned, glad that he didn’t have to move from his comfortable position, and he got Ron back a bit for the sock antics. The lights clicked off, and he heard Ron shuffling back to the bed, his feet practically dragging as he made his way across the room.

“Forget how to walk, Weasley?” Malfoy teased, as Ron climbed under the blanket, and rolled to face him.

“No, just something I learned from the twins.” He could hear the grin in his voice, and narrowed his eyes at the dark lump of his friend. Ron’s hand darted out, and pressed into his forehead.

“Ow!” Malfoy yelped, feeling the shock tingle for a split second. Ron chortled, and pulled his hand away. “What’d you do?” Malfoy asked, running a hand over his forehead. Had he done wandless magic and hexed him?

“I just shocked you. It’s just something that happens if you slide socks over carpet. The twins used to do it all the time to me. I think Bill and Charlie used to do it to them.” Ron mused, his voice holding traces of his amusement.

“That’s strange, and cruel.” Malfoy said, dropping his hand from his face.

“I suppose.” Ron said, shrugging, still smiling.

“It’ll work on anyone?” Malfoy asked, suddenly feeling inspired.

“Yeah.” Ron said, grinning wider at Draco’s enthusiasm. They fell into silence as Malfoy schemed, wondering if Bill would hex him for doing it. Ron was definitely going to get it. And maybe Dean Thomas, too. Or the know-it-all Granger.

“What are you thinking about?” Ron asked, in the dark, his voice a whisper.

“Do you think your brother would hex me if I shocked him?” Malfoy asked, snickering at the thought. He’d been nothing but rude, anyway.

“Nah, not unless you do it a lot. He’s usually pretty easy-going…” Ron said, trailing off at the end.

“What changed?” Malfoy asked, hearing the hesitation. Ron was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m not supposed to tell you. He made me promise.” Ron sounded sheepish, and apologetic.

“Oh. That’s okay.” Malfoy said, deciding not to press the issue. “What about you? What are you thinking about?”

“Something Hermione said while cutting my hair.” Ron mumbled, suddenly even more reluctant.

“What’d she say?” Malfoy asked, feeling nervousness twist in his gut. Were they getting back together? He felt a bit jealous at the thought, thinking about how Mr. Weasley had just put the thought in his head, and he’d had no time to even figure it out.

“She’s… dating Snape.” Ron said.

“What!?” Malfoy exclaimed, disturbing the still room with his loud voice, a bit of relief mixing with his disgust.

“That’s what I said!” Ron agreed. Malfoy tried not to think about that at all. Severus Snape dating was not a pleasant image. Especially if that meant what he thought it meant. But Granger and Snape both seemed like the kind to sit around, reading, and call it a date. He didn’t truly believe that either could really be a sexual being.

“Ugh.” Malfoy garbled, and then brought his thoughts back to his companion. “And what about you? Do you still fancy her?” he hoped Ron couldn’t hear the mild envy in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Ron said. “I hadn’t really thought much about it, and now… Just… ew.”

“Yeah, Snape’s relationships are not something I want to think about.” Draco intoned. They sank into silence for a moment, and Draco felt his fingers twitching with the need to scratch. He gave in, scraping his nails against the bed, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling.

“You’re scratching.” Ron announced.

“I know.” Malfoy sighed, laying his fingers flat on the sheet, and resisted the urge once more. He felt the blanket shift, and Ron’s hand found his, his palm enveloping the addicted fingers. “Thanks.” Malfoy said, the urge so much easier to control with his hand otherwise occupied.

“I know.” Ron echoed, his own fingers knowing all too well the need to dig. Malfoy twined his fingers in and around Ron’s calming them with the new type of fiddling. Before long, he heard Ron snoring softly, completely unbothered by the gentle motion of his hand. Draco paused his movement, considering his friend’s effortless sleep. He wiggled the fingers again, but Ron slumbered on, unaware of the action. Draco scooted closer, moving their hands from his path as he lie practically in the middle of the large bed. He stared over at Ron, clutching his fingers nervously. Was he really thinking about this? What was so weird, anyway, neither had really been bothered by it that morning…

He let go of the fingers, carefully extricating his own, and slipped his arm slightly under Ron’s pillow. He held his breath, terrified that Ron was going to wake up at any moment, and get upset with how close he was. He waited a few moments, and extended his right arm, softly touching Ron’s shoulder. Ron twitched slightly, but his snores didn’t stop, his face still relaxed. Malfoy pulled slightly at his shoulder, encouraging him to roll forward. Ron was easily manipulated, rolling forward with a small grunt, his whole arm flopping across Malfoy, as his head pressed into the pillow, right next to Draco’s face. Finally, the blond closed his eyes, pleased with the warmth covering him, and leaving his own hand on Ron’s shoulder, his fingers soaking up the body heat. He was only awake a few moments longer to wonder if he enjoyed the feeling more than he should. Dreams took him swiftly, and he could worry no longer.


	9. Mother

Draco woke with a start, a gasp sounding from his mouth as his eyes popped open, and he jerked, trying to sit up. He stayed where he was, pinned by Ron’s weight.

“Huh, wha-?” His jolt had woken Ron, who lifted his head, looking around for a moment.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Malfoy mumbled, trying to remember why he’d been so frightened.

“No, no. ‘Sfine…” Ron mumbled, his head dropping back to the pillow, and his snores resuming. Had he even really woken up? Malfoy turned his head slightly, inspecting the face next to his. Ron didn’t seem like he’d even been disturbed, his face slack, his body a dead weight on top of the smaller boy. Draco smirked, wondering if he’d sleep through a raging battle, or several trumpeters. His eyes fell to the slightly parted lips, and his mind inserted another idea of things that he might sleep through. Their faces were so close, he’d barely even have to move his head, just a slight tilt, and-

No, no. He didn’t really want to kiss the redhead. It was just Mr. Weasley’s implication of their closeness that was putting unwanted thoughts in his head again. And something touching an area as sensitive as a mouth was sure to wake him, anyway. Draco looked back toward the ceiling, deciding to settle for wrapping his arms more tightly around the tall man on top of him, stretching as he did so.

His toes bumped into one of Ron’s legs, and he realized a weight resting on his thigh was more of Ron’s limbs draped across him. The boy really was half on top of him. His top arm started to get tired, being held in an uncomfortably tight position, so he lowered it, hooking his fingers through one of Ron’s belt loops, so he could relax, without his arm slipping off. He bent his other, wrapping it up, around Ron’s shoulders, to rest in his hair, feeling the strange mixture of warm scalp, and cool red fluff. He allowed his fingers to explore a bit, drifting through the hair, appreciating the soft and coarse texture. It was odd, touching someone else, feeling how different they were from his own self. He knew his hair was softer, more fine, but more sleek feathery, and not nearly as thick. His own toes couldn’t even reach Ron’s ankle under the blanket, hitting shin, even when he tried stretching as far as he could go. Ron’s hips were slimmer, but his shoulders broader. He was certain that if his arm had been under more than Weasley’s neck, he wouldn’t have been able to reach his hair.

Malfoy turned to inspect his face again, and found blue eyes peering at him. Shit! He hadn’t noticed the lack of snoring.

“Sorry.” Malfoy said, dropping his hand away from the ginger mane.

“I didn’t mind.” Ron answered in a quiet voice, his eyes looking away, his face flushing slightly pink.

“Oh.” Malfoy wavered for a moment, and then returned his hand to it’s stroking, combing the short hair with delicate movements, worried a wrong touch would upset the balance of their familiarity. Ron closed his eyes, a small smile stretching his face, as he enjoyed the contact. Malfoy watched his lips twitch with contentment, and thought again of pressing his forward. That would certainly upset the peace of the moment.

Malfoy wondered for a moment if anyone else thought of them as Mr. Weasley had. Did Ron? He couldn’t just ask; if he got a no, he’d be mortified. And he’d probably never touch him again. That wasn’t a pleasant thought. Draco rather enjoyed having someone to touch, and wasn’t sure anyone else would be so relaxed with him casually touching, or hugging them. Everyone from his old friends probably thought he was a blood-traitor, and no one in the Order would ever trust him. He was lucky he’d become friends with Ron. He wasn’t going to jeopardize it, just to test Mr. Weasley’s theory.

He felt a stab of homesickness, thinking of his Slytherin housemates. His mother, and father. Did his old friends ever think of him? Did they whisper nasty things about him to each other, forgetting seven years of friendship, just to save face?

“What are you thinking about?” Ron’s eyes were open again, watching his face. Draco swallowed to clear his dry throat, and realized he’d been frowning.

“I was thinking about my Slytherin friends. Wondering if they did the same as my father, and if they still…” He trailed off, leaving the thought open ended.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t heard anything about them.” Ron thought aloud, and dug his fingers underneath Malfoy’s side, so his arm wrapped more snugly around the blond’s torso. “Do you want to see them?” Ron asked, and Malfoy pondered that for a moment. Did he?

“I’m not sure. Part of me does, but I’m worried they’ll just be nasty, or get me thrown back in Azkaban. And my desire to stay out of there outweighs any nostalgia.” He grumbled, thinking of how Theo, or Pansy would turn him in in an instant. He’d bullied Crabbe and Goyle so long, they might not sound the alarm, but he didn’t really want to rekindle a friendship so unequal.

“Do you wanna go downstairs and make new friends?” Ron asked almost teasingly, his eyes sparkling with sport.

“I’m fine here.” Draco shrugged, his movement slightly tipping Ron’s head.

“Me too.” Ron agreed, closing his eyes again, and tucked his face into the pillow, right against Malfoy’s neck. Malfoy shivered, and closed his eyes, unsure if he liked the new sensation, or _liked_ it. His neck seemed more sensitive than he’d thought possible, the simple press of skin to the slim curve causing all sorts of nice feelings. It was just a forehead and a nose, but it felt charged with electricity. Hair tickled his ear, and he opened his eyes, trying not to enjoy it too much.

* * *

Ron buried his face into the pillow, hiding his red cheeks. He could feel Malfoy’s neck, but refused to move, deciding the connection was better than showing how embarrassed he was by admitting that he enjoyed how very cozy they were. Hermione’s presumption had him thinking that maybe he liked this more than was necessary. Did one have to be gay to hold hands with, and nestle against a bloke? He didn’t think so, but he’d never done it with any other guy, either.

He felt Malfoy shiver, and felt his fingers tighten briefly in his hair, unaware that he’d even done it.

“Cold?” He asked, mumbling the word into Malfoy’s neck, unsure whether he even could be cold enough to shiver.

“Same as always.” Malfoy replied, his voice a bit odd. Ron couldn’t figure out why, and put it from his mind. He realized he could smell Malfoy, the fragrance of the soap mixing with his skin to make a new scent. He took a deep breath, finding it pleasant, and soothing. Almost sweet, with a bite from the soap. He shifted his head slightly, pressing more of his nose against Malfoy’s neck, wondering if all necks were as soft, and warm. He wanted to press more of his face to it, to feel more of it. It was warmer than the rest of Malfoy, and smelled nicer than fresh sheets.

Ron felt his face heat with another blush, and tried to push the thought away. He didn’t need Hermione’s stupid suggestion changing how he thought about Malfoy. He enjoyed physical contact, plain and simple. Something totally normal, that everyone liked. Just, most everyone wasn’t deprived of it for so long. They didn’t need it as much. That was it, Ron thought smugly, he was just making up for the year he’d been isolated. Nothing strange at all. If he felt differently about Malfoy, it would take longer than the space of one morning to determine. Just like it’d taken him the better part of a year to like him enough to take him during their escape, instead of leaving him, as soon as he saw who it was.

He took another deep breath, trying to make his rosy cheeks lose their color, and enjoyed the smell that came with it. He would definitely need more time to decide if this was more than it seemed. For now, he was content to let things be, and just enjoy the moment of warmth, and companionship.

* * *

A knock at the door had Draco nearly growling with displeasure. He didn’t want to get up yet, but if someone came in, he was sure that Ron would roll away. Too late, he was already sitting up, and calling toward the door.

“Yeah?” He asked, pulling every single limb away reluctantly, his fingers the last to leave Draco’s chest.

“Ron? Mum’s here.” Bill’s voice carried easily into the room, and Malfoy felt a twinge of envy as Ron nearly lept from the blankets, a look of elation on his face. Malfoy rolled more slowly from the bed, trying to make it not too obvious that he’d been halfway across it. Ron was out the door after Bill before Malfoy had even managed to stand. He followed at a snail’s pace, mentally preparing himself for yet another set of distrustful eyes.

There were a few people gathered in the kitchen, and Draco stood in the doorway, watching as Molly hugged her youngest son. He glanced at a clock, and saw it was nearly noon, thinking lunch must be soon.

“And you!” Molly’s voice was loud enough to yank Malfoy’s head back in her direction. She was heading right for him, in nearly a beeline. He felt a moment of fear, wondering what he’d managed to do wrong this time.

Warm arms wrapped around him suddenly, and he felt as though his eyes would pop right out of his head, as the Weasley mother hugged him, squeezing near tight enough to bruise. She held it for a long moment, and he felt confusion, doubt, yearning, and guilt all flit around inside him. Confusion managed to get the largest hold, and as she pulled away, beaming up at him, he couldn’t make his mouth work to ask _‘why’_.

“Arthur’s told me all about you.” Tears were glittering in her eyes, and Malfoy felt the sudden urge to run away, he didn’t do well with crying women. “Thank you _so much_ for taking care of Ron when I… When I couldn’t!” Mrs. Weasley managed to choke out, before grasping him to her again, knocking the wind from him with the force of her affection. Malfoy could feel his face blazing, and looked wildly around for help, patting gently at the older woman’s back, not sure what to do.

“Mum, I think you’re crushing him.” Ron came to his aid, stepping forward to tap his mother’s shoulder. His face was crimson, right to his ears.

“Oh, sorry dear!” Molly apologized, stepping back again, her eyes still sparkling with unshed tears, her face full of warmth, and acceptance. Malfoy could only stare, staggered as she brushed his clothes straight, and picked over the state of his and Ron’s thinness. Somehow, unlike the others mentioning their lack of eating, her worrying felt less intrusive, and more concerned. She was worried for their health, and safety, and didn’t seem to even notice that Draco just stood there, flabbergasted, and silent.

“I’ll whip something up for lunch, you go sit down, and rest.” She said, ushering the pair out of the kitchen, and pushing her husband along after them. Malfoy thumped dully into a chair in the far side of the dining room, his mind a jumbled mess of emotions. He hadn’t been at all prepared for that greeting. He hadn’t been expecting anything but more enmity. To be so wrong, and so… appreciated, he felt as though she couldn’t possibly know who he actually was.

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked from beside him, his voice joking, as his father sat near the door.

“Yeah. I think so.” Malfoy said, still not sure. There was something in his chest that hurt, and he glanced at Mr. Weasley, not sure if he wanted to say what he was actually thinking in front of the older man. Ron didn’t ask any other questions, following his gaze to his dad. He turned slightly in his chair, facing Malfoy, and pressed his knee into the blond’s under the table. Malfoy glanced again at Mr. Weasley to see that he was leaning back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling, looking rather more than interested in it. Was he… trying to give them privacy? It made Malfoy think back to their conversation again.

“I’ll tell you about it later.” He promised in a low murmur, deciding that for now, he should try to actually sort out what he was feeling.

“Alright.” Ron said, turning back in his seat, their legs disconnecting. Malfoy missed the contact, but said nothing, clasping his hands together in his lap to stop the growing need to gouge at the table as he thought.

Mrs. Weasley arrived in no time, floating a tray of sandwiches, and a bowl of fruit ahead of her. Before it had even hit the table, people poured into the room, taking places, and looking eagerly at the food. Draco reached for a sandwich feeling a stab of hunger that he hadn’t thought his body was even capable of anymore. He picked up a sandwich and began eating it, testing his stomach as he slowly nibbled the ham and lettuce.

“Draco dear, have some juice!” Molly said, taking the seat on his other side, and pouring a glass to slide to him.

“Thank you.” He managed to articulate through a mouthful of bread. He watched as she slid a few orange slices and a pear half onto his plate, clucking like a worried hen, and doing the same for Ron.

To Draco’s surprise, he managed to finish his whole sandwich, and everything Mrs. Weasley had set on his plate. As he reached out for another glass of juice, he saw Ron grabbing another sandwich, and grinned over at his friend, glad to see that both their appetites had begun coming back. The conversations that whisked around the table seemed to be fervent, asking the three new arrivals all sorts of questions, and a few sharp glares being shot at Draco. He noticed that there was something they all were refusing to say. The three had been off getting a house ready. But no one said who for. Was it going to be the new headquarters? He watched the group chatting, and saw Bill shooting yet another glare at him. He thought of what Ron had said the previous night. He’d changed recently, but Ron wasn’t allowed to say why. Did the house have something to do with that? Was it because he was there, they no longer thought this house safe? No, the ginger trio had been gone long before the rescue mission. It had nothing to do with him.

Draco looked around the table again, trying to figure out what they were keeping from him.

“Here, dear. You need to eat more!” Molly was saying, piling a third helping onto Fleur’s plate.

“Oh, I really can’t. I’m too full!” Fleur argued, putting a hand over her stomach, and smiling at the matron.

“Oh.” Draco whispered, watching as the blonde’s hands cupped her belly from above and below. Her stomach was nearly flat, but the image was enough. He looked toward Bill, seeing how the long haired Weasley’s eyes were on his wife, loving, and proud. Draco looked away quickly, as the pieces fell into place. Fleur was expecting. The house was for her, and the baby. Bill was worried the Slytherin was going to get his wife and child killed.

Draco pushed away from the table, and fled the room, feeling sick to his stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the food. The room was suddenly too small. Too full. He needed to breathe. He ran toward the kitchen, and sought the back door, yanking it open, and getting most of the way outside, before he was stopped short, yanked back by his wrist.

He looked back, staring at the trapping gold bracelet, his breath coming in fast pants, his whole body feeling hot and cold, while his muscles shook. He pushed at the bracelet futilely, desperate to escape the constricting house, the joy, and protectiveness of those within.

* * *

Ron was staring as Fleur cupped her belly, smiling at the thought of his niece or nephew under her fingers. He couldn’t wait to meet the new Weasley. He couldn’t remember his parents bringing Ginny home, and wondered idly if Bill’s child would be red-headed like the rest of them. Would Fleur’s veela blood make a difference?

A loud scraping pulled his thoughts back to his surroundings, and he looked up just in time to see Malfoy practically run from the room, looking terrified. He shot after him in half a second, filled with worry for the blond. Was he having another breakdown? Was he going to puke again?

“Malfoy, wait!” He called in the hallway, confused by his friend’s path toward the kitchen, instead of the stairs. He usually ran for the bedroom. Was he going to puke in the sink?

Ron got into the kitchen, to see Malfoy out the door, tugging at his arm, as the gold band around his wrist kept him from truly leaving the house. His eyes were wide, and he looked as though he might be hyperventilating.

“Malfoy, what’s wrong? Calm down!” Ron hurried over, grabbing the hand that was trapped inside, and pulling his friend slightly back, worried by the redness gathering in his fingers. His struggles seemed to be making the band tighter, cutting of blood flow to his wrist.

“I have to get out.” Malfoy muttered, his eyes flashing to Ron’s for the briefest moment. His voice was filled with panic, as though there was something after him.

“You can’t get out, stop pulling!” Ron said louder, trying to get through to the distressed boy.

“I have to!” Malfoy shot back, yanking harder, until just his hand was inside again, his fingers turning slightly purple.

“Bill!” Ron called, turning to see his brother already walking into the kitchen. “Undo the charm!”

“What? No!” Bill refused, looking instantly irritated. He didn’t seem to register Malfoy’s struggles at all, his eyes on Ron.

“Bill! Let him go! It’s not like he can apparate without a wand! I’ll be with him!” Ron promised, feeling a strange coldness against his skin, as Malfoy’s struggles continued. His hand was going cold, and darkening rapidly, the gold tightening more.

“What’s he need outside for, anyway?” Bill asked, glaring at Malfoy finally, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the wrecked boy. Ron glanced back at his friend, realizing that it was Bill’s first time seeing the Malfoy heir in such a state. Tears were streaking down his cheeks, his eyes were huge, and his mouth was moving, silent words forming incoherent sentences, as he stomped his feet, and yanked over and over at his hand. He looked nearly possessed as he struggled to get away, seeming as though he’d tear his hand off to do it.

“Finite Incantatem.” Bill waved his wand toward the blond, and watched as he fell with a lurch, landing on his side. He quickly scrambled to his feet, shooting away from the house faster than he’d moved in a year. Ron followed behind him, shouting thanks to his brother as he followed the manic Malfoy away from the house, and past the Apparation shed. They disappeared into a field of tall grass that went well above their heads, and Ron sped up, catching up, and grabbing his hand again, keeping hold of the boy so he wouldn’t lose him as he ran further and further from the building.

He finally collapsed, breathing in ragged gasps, clutching his side, his fingers squeezing Ron’s in a death grip as he shook with exertion. Ron crashed to the ground next to him, his legs feeling like rubber, and his lungs turned to fire.

“What’d you run for?” He wheezed, falling to lay on his back, trying to catch his breath as the world lurched around him.

“I-” Malfoy gasped for air, his fingers tightening even more on Ron’s. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? You just decided to go for a sprint?” Ron huffed, pushing himself slowly back to a sitting position. The world wasn’t moving anymore, and he didn’t quite feel the need to pass out.

“No, I-” Malfoy floundered, and groaned, his face scowling, and his hand yanked roughly away. “It was too much.”

“What was? It was just juice.” Ron said, thinking back to the last thing Malfoy had been eating.

“Not the food. The… warm fuzziness of everyone fawning over her. No wonder Bill hates me. I wouldn’t want Death Eaters around my child either.” He hissed, his fingers digging madly into the dirt. For once, Ron let him dig, smiling a bit as he realized he could too, without worrying about ruining anything. It was just dirt.

“You’re not a Death Eater.” Ron argued, his own finger poking into the soft earth.

“I’m not?” Malfoy barked, yanking his sleeve up, and brandishing his left arm. “Explain this, then!”

“So what? Snape’s got one too!” Ron said, pushing the arm away, feeling irritated with Malfoy’s determination to believe the worst of himself. “You switched sides. You’re not a Death Eater.”

“Are you sure he’s switched sides? He was practically the Dark Lord’s favorite.” Malfoy bit out, glaring at the hole that was quickly forming. Soil was so much easier to part than stone.

“I’m not sure but Hermione is. And I trust her. Just like I trust you. You want to be different, so be different. Change whatever you don’t like about yourself.” Ron announced, feeling a bit silly, but forcing himself not to make a face. Malfoy needed words of encouragement more than the redhead needed his pride.

“Fine. Where do I sign up to change everything?” Malfoy hissed angrily, glaring over at Ron with a look that reminded him of their school days.

“Nowhere. You do it yourself.” Ron replied, trying to sound like he knew what he was talking about. Even if it was total rubbish, Malfoy needed something to calm himself down.

“They’ll never trust me.” Malfoy whispered sullenly, his hand balling into a fist around the dirt. “It doesn’t matter how much I change, because no one will ever see anything except what they want. And no one wants to trust me.”

“That’s not true. I trust you. My mum and dad trust you. Mum seems to be absolutely bonkers over you, actually.” Ron said, remembering the look on Malfoy’s face as his mother had nearly squashed him in a hug.

“Your mother’s a fool!” Malfoy snapped, glaring up at Ron, his face twisted with anger. “She trusts me because I ‘helped’ you? What a load! Doesn’t she know who I am!? Haven’t the others told her exactly what kind of evil monster she so readily embraced!? How could she just put her faith blindly in someone so easily? She hears one good thing about me, and suddenly forgets I’m a Death Eater? She’s stupid, and it’ll get her killed!”

Ron stared in shock at the blond, his face slack as Malfoy spewed insults about his mother. His face held every single inflection of his words, his sunken eyes holding the familiar nasty spark he’d lost in Azkaban. Ron could hardly believe what Malfoy was saying. It was almost as though he really hadn’t changed. He was on the verge of saying something nasty back, defending his mother, when Malfoy spoke again, the anger on his face morphing to pain.

“How could she trust me more than my own mother?” Malfoy’s voice had quieted to nearly a murmur, staring at his knees as he waited for Ron to reply, unwilling to meet his eyes. Ron took the sight of him in, trying to figure him out before he spoke. His pale cheeks were flushed, and his bottom lip was trembling as though he was on the verge of crying. Ron could barely see through the silvery curtain of hair hiding Malfoy’s eyes, but could make out the flutter of his eyelashes as he blinked rapidly, fighting back waterworks. Was it due to Narcissa, or Molly? Ron couldn’t quite tell.

“What d’you mean? Your mum loved you. She died for you, didn’t she?” Ron asked, tilting his head, trying to see under the shield of hair. Malfoy jerked his head away, hiding his emotional features, and took a deep breath.

“Sure, she loved me. But she didn’t trust me. She was afraid of me. She tried to hide it, but I could see it in her eyes. The way she jumped like a startled cat when she wasn’t expecting me.” he rubbed his face roughly, turning clear, haunted grey eyes on Ron. “After I took the Mark, she never touched me. She’d shy away if I tried to comfort her, always had somewhere else to be. Like I was contagious.”

Ron stared into the silvery pools for a while, turning over what Malfoy had said. Had his mother really withdrawn from him, just because he’d followed his father’s footsteps? He couldn’t imagine his own mother refusing to hug him, just because he’d made bad choices. She’d be upset, sure, but would she abandon him to the wolves? He really doubted it.

“Malfoy…” Ron began, not sure how to say what he wanted to. “I don’t think your mother was afraid of you. I know my mum wouldn’t be. She’d be worried I’d get hurt. Your mum probably pulled away, because she knew you’d get hurt, and couldn’t stand watching. The first time Mum thought I could’ve died she went ballistic. Couldn’t seem to decide if she wanted to be angry that I’d gotten myself into so much trouble, or pleased that I was alive. Woman nearly crushed me to death hugging me, at the same time she took away my quidditch privileges for the summer, and promised I’d spend every waking hour working on the lawn.”

Malfoy looked confused, and opened his mouth to interrupt, but Ron held up a hand, and continued, wanting to finish his thoughts before being shot down.

“No one’s perfect, Malfoy. And no one reacts the same to anything. So your mum going to an extreme when she was afraid for your life, every day, is no surprise. Would you honestly be able to watch someone you care about risk their lives constantly, and just pretend everything was normal?” Ron asked, hoping he could get Malfoy to see things from a different angle.

Malfoy was silent for a moment, staring thoughtfully at Ron, a calculating look on his face.

“Probably not.” He finally conceded, looking back toward the dirt, his hand beginning to bury itself further.

“My mum’s response to stress is to hug everyone. You’ll probably get a few more before she leaves.” Ron said, grinning at the thought of the poor blond drowning in the affection of the Weasley matriarch. Ron thought it might do him some good. He’d been without a proper family for too long.

“Uhg. Remind me not to leave the bedroom, then.” Malfoy groaned, looking once again sane, and placing his usual sneer across his features.

“Are you better?” Ron asked hopefully, taking in the softening complexion, and red-rimmed eyes. He looked like the worst was over.

“I think so. Sorry about running like that.” Malfoy said, his sneer falling, and an apologetic look overtaking his face. It was an expression Ron was sure he’d never show to the others.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s about time we had some sun, anyway.” Ron teased, gesturing to sky above them. Malfoy looked up, squinting at the cloudy sky, and digging his fingers even deeper into the ground.

“Does this really count as ‘sun’?” Malfoy countered, looking back down, and fixing Ron with an argumentative stare.

“Sure it does. More sun than either of us has had in a year. You look like you could use it, too.” Ron teased, darting his hand out to playfully bat aside one of Malfoy’s fringe locks.

“You’re one to talk. Any paler and you’d lose your spots, Weasley.” Malfoy smirked, eyeing the pale freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Good. Never liked them anyway.” Ron grimaced, running a hand across one cheek self consciously.

“Why not? I don’t think they’re that bad.” Malfoy said with a shrug, his eyes darting across the speckled face, examining the colors.

“Didn’t you used to say foul things about them in school?” Ron countered, remembering a couple choice phrases the blond had shot across the great hall, the library, and the quidditch pitch.

“Eh, I said a lot of shite I didn’t mean.” Malfoy shrugged, staring as his hand was completely covered by dirt, and his fingers wiggled, making the soil roll. “I don’t think I’ve played in the dirt since I was three.”

“Let me guess, it wasn’t something a Malfoy was allowed to do?” Ron sniggered, and watched as Draco lifted his hand to inspect his filthy skin and nails with a grimace.

“No, it really wasn’t. I remember trying to help a gardener once. Father yelled at me for half an hour about how unbefitting of my status that was.” His eyes had gone dull again, and Ron decided to pull the conversation away from the boy’s parents.

“My parents encouraged it. Our garden had gnomes, and we had to get rid of them every few months. Nasty little buggers.” Ron made a face at the memory of being bitten on more than one occasion by the nasty little potatoes. To his surprise, laughter bubbled from Draco’s mouth, and his eyes sparkled once more as he looked up, meeting Ron’s gaze, and shaking his bangs out of the way.

“Sorry, sorry…” He finally managed to gasp, tears sparkling in his lashes as Ron stared at him, dumbfounded. He had no idea _why_ Malfoy was laughing, but as his face crinkled with another bout of hysteria, his arms clutched around his aching diaphragm, Ron couldn’t stop staring. His new best friend was clearly suffering some sort of breakdown-induced madness, but Ron couldn’t remember seeing anyone so beautifully jubilant in so long, Malfoy’s laughing face was something he never wanted to stop looking at. It gave him real hope that they could both eventually overcome the past year.

Then Malfoy’s laughter started choking, and the tears started spilling down his face, and Ron realized he was actually crying again, holding himself tightly, harsh sobs wracking his thin frame all over again, his face no longer amused, but agonized. Ron moved to him immediately, wrapping his long arms around Malfoy’s shoulders, feeling panic rise in his chest at the quick swerving of his friend’s emotions.

“It’s okay.” Ron muttered, as the pale forehead fell to his shoulder, and Draco’s arms shot around his ribs, his fingers gripping the brown leather jacket that covered Ron’s back. He patted Malfoy on the back, trying to soothe the boy’s distress, whispering words his mother had used on him as a child, and rocking slightly back and forth, trying desperately to keep his worry from his voice, and sound as though he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he knew for certain that things would get better.

* * *

Draco felt his laughter turn sharply into sobs, and horror filled his chest, trying to hold his pendulum of emotions together with his arms, to no avail. He couldn’t see through the tears that filled his eyes, and tried desperately to choke out an apology, but his throat seemed stuck closed, letting go of only the most undignified whimpers and sobs. Warmth wrapped around him, and he grabbed onto it, wrapping his arms tightly around what he knew must be Ron, and burying his face in leather, hoping to at least hide his wretched expression from Ron’s eyes. He heard the voice whispering in his ear, but couldn’t make out the words through his own noisy wailing, and the blood rushing through his ears. He felt like he was swaying, and held tighter, feeling lightheaded from his lack of proper air. He pulled in a shuddering breath, only for it to be released as an equally fast and quaking sob. He clamped his lips shut, and choked silently on his sobs for a few moments, hoping they’d die down, but they broke out with a gasp, and he cried harder, knowing that at any moment, Ron might get up and leave him there, foregoing the mess that was Draco Malfoy. He really had no reason to stay, to offer comfort to the broken pureblood, and Malfoy almost hoped he would, so he could get on with dropping to the ground, and letting himself die.

“Shh… You’re safe now.” The first real words of Weasley’s chanting finally broke through his ears, and Malfoy’s chest shuddered with the effort to calm down, so he could hear more.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” Ron’s voice was quiet, soft, punctuated by his fingers carding through platinum hair with delicate strokes. Draco realized that the rocking wasn’t in his head, Weasley was actually tipping them back and forth like one might a baby.

“I- I’m so-sorry.” Malfoy choked through tears, hiccups filling his throat and chest as he fought to control his breathing.

“Don’t worry about it. Just relax.” Ron whispered, petting his hair again, and rubbing one large palm across Malfoy’s back. He struggled to do just that, taking a few deep gulps of air, interspersed with more hiccups. He swallowed several times trying to dissolve the lump that had formed in his throat, and sniffled to clear his nose. It was wholly undignified, and he pushed that thought, too, away, focusing on loosening his tense muscles, and stopping the jerky motions of his chest. A couple tears still slid down his cheeks, and he pulled away slightly, wiping his face on his sleeve. Ron’s arms drooped slightly, expecting Draco to pull away completely now that he seemed to be fending off the misery.

Draco wiped his face again, and buried it back into Ron’s chest. The comfort of being in his arms far outweighed the discomfort of Mr. Weasley’s implication still heavy in his mind. The way Ron’s arms tightened back around his shoulders instead of pushing him away was like a cool salve on his nerves, and he shifted his face off of the suddenly unbearable leather coat, and nestled toward the middle of Ron’s chest, resting his cheek on the soft wool of his hideous cardigan.

Through his clearing nostrils he could smell Weasley under his face, the clean smell of the cloth mingling with the scent of sweat from running through the field. He took large breaths of the scented air, detecting the soil around them, the smell of impending rain. It was beautiful, and warm, and he found himself fighting back another wave of tears at how very glad he was to be outside, under the sky, in the arms of another human. He might’ve died never experiencing such things again. All it would’ve taken was Ron escaping without him, and he surely would’ve lost the will to even keep digging his way out.

The redhead had stopped rocking, and was instead rubbing his back slowly, long strokes up and down, not saying anything. Draco closed his eyes, soaking in the warmth of the chest underneath his face, the smells that surrounded him, and the sound of a breeze ruffling the tall grass around them. He could taste the salt from his tears still lingering on his lips, and felt the temperature dropping the longer they sat motionless. Even Ron’s warm arms and chest underneath him didn’t stop the shiver that passed through him, the external cold making his freezing soul that much more prominent.

“Ready to go back?” Ron asked quietly, his hands pausing for a moment.

“Not yet.” Malfoy breathed, enduring the chill so that he could remain in the perfect moment a few seconds longer.

“Okay.” Ron easily accepted, his hands returning to their back and forth motion.

“Sorry I’m so useless.” Malfoy muttered, sniffling again.

“You’re not. You may not be good right now, but you’re not useless.” Ron hesitated, his hands pausing before he continued. “You kept me from losing my mind. And if you weren’t here, now, I- I think I’d be a lot worse off than you are. So you’re not useless.”

Draco let out a small chuckle at the way Ron seemed to be rambling, and pulled back slightly, laughing again when he caught sight of the way Ron eyed his laughter with worry.

“Don’t worry, I think I’m done, now.” He wiped his face again, fighting his smile. Ron watched him warily, waiting for his good humor to turn black.

“Really, I feel much better. Thanks.” He felt his face darken, and Ron dropped his arms away, his eyes still suspicious.

“So… What was that one for?” Ron asked, indicating the second half of Malfoy’s breakdown with a lame wave of his hand. Draco shrugged, and began poking at the dirt again.

“I don’t really know. It was like all the good and bad and nothingness just sort of… got out of hand.” He tried to put into words the way his laughter had just sparked some horrible avalanche of emotions inside him.


	10. Fireside

Ron nodded, his own fingers picking at the dirt. He couldn’t exactly understand what Malfoy meant, but he felt that he knew the blond well enough to understand that Malfoy’s mind must have been an incredibly complicated place to live. Everything seemed to make him feel guilty one way or another, and Ron felt a stab of hatred for the childhood that must’ve encouraged such self-doubt. From one of Malfoy’s breakdown’s through the hole, he’d heard quite a bit about the boy’s father, and what he was like behind closed doors. He hadn’t realized at the time that the person being described was Lucius Malfoy, but thinking back on it, he felt pity for the blond whose father had been so apparently indulgent, but was privately undermining every good thing Draco ever felt.

He couldn’t imagine his own father being so different behind closed doors; just the thought of having to deal with two different versions of his parents was enough to make his head hurt. No wonder Malfoy had no idea how to emote properly.

“Malfoy,-”

“Don’t call me that. Please.” His eyes were begging, and Ron remembered instantly the months of him trying to come up with a new name.

“Draco, then?” He asked, trying not to laugh at how odd the first name sounded rolling between his lips.

“Sure. Just not ‘Malfoy’. I’ve been disowned, remember?” He spat, but the venom wasn’t directed toward his friend.

“I remember.” Ron nodded, feeling another pang of pity for the boy before him. “So, Draco, like I was saying-”

“Ron!” The distanced shout interrupted him once more, and he groaned, hearing Bill’s voice full of panic.

“Just a sec.” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet, and cupping his hands around his mouth to shout back. “Go away, Bill, we’re fine!”

“Where the hell are you!?” Bill’s call was a bit closer, and Ron turned to glance at the blond. He was staring back, his fingers sifting independently through the dark dirt, his eyes wide with anxiety.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Ron ordered, and began pushing his way back through the grass, along the barely visible path they’d created running there.

He got just out of sight before the panicked shout followed him.

“Wait!” Malfoy’s footsteps were hurried, and he caught up within a second, latching onto the redhead’s hand, his eyes wide with fear as he glanced around.

Ron squeezed his dirt-stained hand right back, and didn’t ask what he was so afraid of. There was only one thing he had to be so terrified of- his previous allegiance.

“Ron!” Bill’s voice spurred them forward, and Ron called back to keep his brother from getting further lost.

“We’re coming! Calm down!” He shouted, grumbling to himself as they marched slowly back to the house. Bill’s calls ceased, and Ron glanced back at Malfoy.

“Sorry, I was going to stay there, but…” Draco shook his head in a small cascade of white-gold.

“I get it.” Ron nodded, easily able to imagine how the tall grass surrounding one lone man would seem ominous. Especially when it seemed like everybody was after your blood. The walk back seemed to take three times as long as the sprint had, and Ron felt the stitch in his side start up halfway through. Before they even reached the edge of the tall stalks, the skies seemed to open, and dump buckets of water over their heads.

They sloshed faster toward the house, both shivering violently as they stepped onto the back porch, and out of the rain.

“Oh, you look frightful!” Molly was there, instantly fretting, and Ron felt Malfoy sink slightly into his side, his hand tightening as though he was afraid of the woman.

“We’re fine, mum.” Ron assured her, shaking the wetness from his hair, and wiping it from his face. He looked at Malfoy, smiling to see that the hard rain had washed the tear streaks from his face, and lessened the red puff around his eyes. He could feel the thin frame shivering against his arm, and ignored the look his mother shot at their joined hands before she hurried them into the kitchen.

“Sweet Merlin, why’s it so damn cold?” Malfoy chattered wrapping his free arm across his torso as the cold air from inside hit them.

“Air conditioning. It’s a muggle convenience.” Hermione said from the doorway. Her eyes locking on Ron’s. He remembered what she’d said about the mind reading and looked away, not wanting her to pick up on how much he’d been thinking about her words, or how tightly Malfoy was squeezing his hand as Molly waved her wand at them, drying their clothes to produce thick curls of steam.

“It’s bloody awful.” Malfoy shivered, glaring at the walls as though they were to blame.

“Well, we turned the heat on after the rain started, so it’ll be warmer in a bit. There’s a fire in the livingroom, if you’d like to warm up faster, and I’ll make you some tea.” Molly offered, and Ron had to bite back a laugh at the look on Malfoy’s face.

“Thanks, mum. Tea sounds great.” He replied, and bumped into Draco’s shoulder to get his attention silently. “It’s just her way of dealing.” He whispered too quietly for the older woman to hear, and Malfoy nodded, watching as she started to bustle about the kitchen.

“Anything else you need?” Hermione asked, and Ron noticed how she was meeting Draco’s eyes, her own widening. “Blankets, maybe?”

“Sure.” Ron accepted, and tugged Malfoy past her, toward the promised fire. As soon as they were out of earshot, he leaned in and muttered, “Careful, she can read minds now. Snape’s been teaching her, apparently.”

“I- What?” Malfoy stammered, glancing back at the girl who was pulling open a linen closet.

“Yeah, she-” He cut his words off, realizing he’d been about to tell him how she knew they were ‘close’. “I don’t know how good she is, though.”

“Well, if it’s only been this past year, she can’t be that far along. Takes years to develop the skill.” Malfoy replied, his face contemplative. “Thanks for telling me. I won’t think about your secrets around her.” His smirk was teasing, and Ron grinned back as they practically fell to the ground in front of the fireplace. The heat rolling from the grate was magnificent, and Ron looked around the unfamiliar room. It was larger than the sitting room they’d played chess in, and the furniture was sturdier, more wood and burgundy than wicker and white. The smell of the logs burning was filling the space, and as he looked around, he caught sight of Ginny in a small window alcove reading, so still she nearly blended in with the scenery.

“Hey, Gin!” he called, stretching out languidly before the comforting flames.

His sister jumped slightly, and looked around, and her eyes focused on them, as though she’d been in another world. She slid from the window seat and walked over, smiling as she approached.

“Friends with that git, now?” She shot a dirty look at Malfoy, and Ron felt his fingers pull away, so they were no longer touching as his sister stared down at them.

“Yeah, I am.” Ron said easily, not caring to have the same argument over. “Long story. Not having a go, and not gonna ditch him. How’re you?” He asked in a rush.

“Fine.” Her eyes darted to Malfoy again, and back to her brother. “George isn’t doing so good, but, I mean, who can expect him to.”

“What about-” He choked on the words a moment, and then decided to ask Hermione about it instead. She wouldn’t be as close to the situation as any of his family members. “So, what’s happened since I was locked up?” He asked, forcing his face into a playful grin at his own incarceration, as though it had been a holiday.

“Well…” Ginny plopped to the floor next to him, rubbing her hands together, and shooting Malfoy another glare. “We all sort of got lost, as fast as we could. Percy and Bill went after you, and Percy got stunned, too. Bill managed to get away before they got him, and we all ran, it was crazy. Stunning spells going everywhere, people scattering like roaches. We got split up for awhile, and I was with George, dad, and mum. We ran back to the Room of Requirement, and got out, and Aberforth kept the passage open for others, until the Death Eaters started coming through. We all disapparated while he stayed behind to keep them from us. We hid out for a while, trying to regroup, but everyone seemed to be hiding, dead, or being thrown in Azkaban. We saw you’d been chucked in, in the Prophet, but… There was nothing we could do.”

“S’alright.” Ron comforted her, seeing the apology in her eyes. “I’m out now.”

“Then, in November, Bill found us hiding in Mum’s family home, the one that was worse than home?” Ron nodded at the memory of the tiny nearly muggle cottage where his grandparents had lived, and the horrid smell that had always filled the place. “Apparently, Hermione had found him and Fleur, and they were all living here, trying to find others, so they could start back up with the rebellion.”

“Wow.” Ron breathed, not missing how Ginny had left out a good portion of details. Whether due to Malfoy’s presence, or discomfort thinking on it, he didn’t press the issue.

“So how was… You know?” She asked, her eyes looking them both over, her hands balling in her lap.

“Not too bad.” Ron lied, not wanting to terrify his sister.

“Liar.” Ginny shot immediately, scowling. “I’m not a baby, Ron, you can tell me.”

“Fine, it was bloody awful.” Ron retorted, offering just as many details as she had. “The only person I got to talk to for the whole year was Malfoy.”

“Sounds like shite company.” Ginny sneered, giving Draco another hostile look.

“Stop, Gin. He’s fine.” He leaned forward, blocking his sister’s view of the blond, who’d been staring into the fire, ignoring them the entire conversation.

“If you say so.” Ginny allowed in a tone that said she didn’t agree, regardless.

“I do say so.” Ron affirmed, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to have a row with anyone after being unable to talk to them so long, but he was getting right sick of them constantly putting Draco down.

“Here we are, dears. Ginny, clear a spot would you?” Molly bustled into the room, and carried the tray of tea to the coffee table behind the small gathering of teens. Ginny obliged, and stacked a few of the scattered magazines and books, making a spot for the tray to be set down. Molly sat on the couch on the other side of the table with a groan, and leaned forward to pour cups of tea.

“How do you take yours, dear?” She asked Malfoy, who took a moment to realize she was speaking to him. He jolted slightly when Ron nudged him, and whipped around, looking away from the fire.

“Um, sugar?” He asked, as though he’d never had tea before, and eyed the tea service as though it would bite.

Molly made him a cup and set it on the table toward him, pouring another three, and making them the same. Milk, sugar, and a bit of honey.

“That’s barely tea.” Malfoy muttered as Ron took his own, and blew on the steaming cup.

“Shut it, Malf- er, Draco.” Ron stuttered over the name, feeling his face flush slightly as he corrected his mouth. He ignored the pointed look from Ginny, and watched as Draco’s lip tilted in a small smile at Ron’s misstep.

“Here you go, I brought a few, in case anyone else comes down, and wants one.” Hermione called, entering the room with a veritable tower of blankets.

“Leave any for the beds, ‘Mione?” Ginny scoffed into her tea, as Hermione set the pile down on the same couch Mrs. Weasley occupied, and pulled a few from the top.

“Ron.” She chucked the first woolen cover to him, “Malfoy.” The second landed on Malfoy’s lap, making him jump slightly, and slosh tea over himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Hermione instantly pulled her wand out, and waved it at Malfoy, who flinched away violently, spilling more tea.

“Oh, dear.” Molly was leaning forward, her fingers hovering over her own wand, as Hermione fumbled to eradicate the second tea splotch from Malfoy’s jacket.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hermione apologized, her face bright red.

“Not your fault…” Malfoy muttered politely, not meeting her eyes, but setting his tea down pointedly. There wasn’t much left in the cup, anyway. He used his free hands to pull the blanket open over his lap, while Ron slung his across his back, holding it like a cape around himself.

“Terrorizing the guests?” Snape’s cold drawl pulled all eyes to the corner of the room, and Ron instantly looked from him to Hermione, inspecting their reactions.

“Not at all. It was just an accident.” She said defensively, squaring her shoulders, her eyes locked on his. They held gazes for a moment, and Ron had the distinct feeling that they were having some sort of a silent conversation. Her cheeks flamed slowly pink, and she yanked her gaze away, looking toward the Weasley mother.

“Ohh, tea. May I?” She asked, sitting next to the woman, and reaching for the service at a nod from Molly.

“Draco, a word?” Snape’s voice sent a chill up Ron’s spine, and he thought about offering to follow.

“Sure.” The blond stood, leaving the barely used blanket on the floor, and followed his fellow Slytherin through the door Snape had materialized from. They disappeared down a flight of stairs, and Ron felt a pang of worry. He hoped that whatever Snape wanted, it wouldn’t cause Malfoy to go off the deep end again. He’d never tell the blond, but he felt rather exhausted from trying to comfort him earlier.

“Is it safe to let them talk alone?”

All eyes jumped from the exit to the doorway into the hallway, where Neville stood, arms folded across his chest, staring balefully at the now-closed door.

“Perfectly safe. They’re both on our side, and even if Malfoy managed to lie through the Veritaserum, I doubt he’d be able to get the better of Severus, especially without a wand.” Hermione said, sipping at her own teacup.

“Alright, but what about Snape? He killed Dumbledore! He’s used to playing both sides, how can you be sure he’s really with us this time?” Neville asked, his tone more acidic that Ron could ever remember hearing it.

“I’m sure.” Hermione said in a steely tone. “He has always been on our side, and even if, by some strange quirk, he decided to flip… He still owes me a life debt.”

“He what!?” Neville exclaimed, coming further into the room, migrating toward the fire, and eyeing the blankets, even as he stared in confusion at Hermione.

“I saved his life, Neville. So, according to old magical theory, which Harry proved with Pettigrew, Severus owes me his life. So even if he would betray me, which he won’t, he couldn’t.”

“Oh.” Neville let out a little breath, and sank to the floor. Then he looked back up, confused once more. “Why’d you save him?”

“Because I was sick of seeing people die.” Hermione said testily, clearly not comfortable talking about it. She glanced to Ron again, her face still pink, and he realized she must be uncomfortable talking about how she’d ended up _together_ with him. She pulled her dark eyes away from Ron’s and the room fell silent as Molly made Neville a cuppa.

* * *

Draco followed his aging professor down the stairs, fighting his terror the whole way. He couldn’t stop wondering if Snape really was an ex Death Eater, or if he was about to find himself at the end of a wand, and possibly right into the Dark Lord’s clutches. There were lights coming from the bottom of the stairs, and he came out of them into a large basement, with several bubbling cauldrons lining the room.

“Draco.” The word pulled him to a stop as the Potions Master turned to meet his gaze. “How are you fairing?”

“Fine.” Draco replied shortly, eyeing the potions, and the man in front of him. Snape looked almost relaxed, his hair was longer than Draco had ever seen it, layered, and reaching past his shoulders at its longest points. The most surprising thing was that his hair looked clean, and his face clear. Not at all oily. Must’ve been Granger’s doing.

“If you’ll have a seat, I’d like to do a few diagnostic spells, to make sure your time in Azkaban has not left you with any permanent damages.” Snape gestured to a chair, and Draco took it, having nothing else to do. He eyed the wand that Snape pulled out, and kept his face blank of his fear. He did something he hadn’t needed to for nearly a year, and cleared his mind, occluding his terror of being alone with the double agent.

The older man muttered under his breath, waving his wand in intricate patterns, and making lights in various colors appear over Draco, each lasting barely a moment.

“So you’re really on their side, then?” Malfoy finally asked, choosing his words carefully.

“Our side, Draco. You’re with us, too, regardless of how the others huff.” Snape admonished, tucking his wand back into his robes. “Though I know there’s not much I could say to assure you I’m not going to drag you back.”

Malfoy pressed his lips together, and stayed silent as Snape pulled a ladle through a small pewter cauldron.

“Drink.” He handed the glass of potion to Draco, who downed it without question. If it was poison, then at least he’d know the truth before he died. The slight burn in his throat told him it was the same potion he’d been given the night before.

“What is this, professor?” He asked, making a face with his hand outstretched to hand the glass back.

“It’s my own creation, and doesn’t have a name. I designed it for the sole purpose of recovery from Azkaban. It’ll help with the malnutrition, and lack of appetite, as well as give you your energy back. After your mad dash from the house this afternoon, though, I imagine you’ve already got quite a bit your strength back.”

Draco felt his cheeks color at the thought of how he’d rushed from the house, and nearly dislocated his arm trying to get free. He couldn’t recall anyone except Bill and Ron witnessing that.

“You saw?” He asked, grimacing.

“No. Bill returned to the table and told us you and Ron had gone for air.” Snape replied breezily, not bothering to explain further. Draco chalked it up to the same legilimency he’d been teaching Granger. Would nothing in that house be private, with two legilimens? Likely not, he decided.

“I hear you’re teaching Granger to read minds.” He mentioned, hoping to receive some more insight.

“I am.” Snape looked him in the eyes, and sighed in a rather exasperated way. “I suppose Weasley is no better at keeping his mouth shut?”

“He is.” Draco found himself defending the Weasley, “He didn’t tell me about Fleur. Only told me about Granger after she tried sneaking in.”

Snape fixed him with an ‘I-know-something-you-don’t-know’ smile, and Draco’s stomach flipped over.

“Oh, I very much doubt she ‘tried’ anything.” He said cryptically, turning his smirk to the ceiling briefly, before fixing Draco with a deadly serious stare. “I was astounded that she told Weasley about her being a Legilimens, and I’m absolutely appalled that you now know. That makes four of us in the house that know, and I would very much appreciate it if it spread no further, do you understand?”

Draco nodded, the ice tone in the professor’s voice making his throat close with fear.

“Good. Pass the message on to Weasley when you’re alone, will you?” Snape waved his hand dismissively and turned to a potion, excusing the young blond to his escape.

Malfoy went up the stairs as fast as he could without seeming panicked, and paused at the top, brushing his hair from his face, and setting his expression in a neutral mask. He opened the door, and nearly closed it again, seeing that the number of people had multiplied. Every piece of furniture was taken, and Ron sat nearest the fire, the orange light highlighting his already fiery hair. There were a few teens littered on the floor, and, Draco was rather surprised to see, Arthur Weasley, too, sitting on the carpet like a man twenty years younger, his shoulder touching his wife’s knee as he chatted with Bill, who sat next to him, leaning against his own wife’s legs.

Draco forced his feet forward, toward Ron’s relaxed form, stepping quietly, as though he hadn’t already drawn every eye in the room, and could avoid detection. He kept his eyes locked on his target, ignoring the way conversation seemed to die down, and how the fire, and a few candles were the only light in the room, the windows darkened by a storm-blocked sunset.

“Here, saved your blanket.” Ron held up the grey wool and handed it to him as he took his seat, as close to Ron as he could get without actually touching him. He ignored the eyes, and draped the blanket back over his legs. Mimicking Ron’s position, he placed his hands behind himself and stretched his legs straight out, noting how his feet still only came to the middle of Ron’s shins. He hadn’t ever really thought the boy was that tall before. Looking across at him, his head didn’t seem that much higher than Draco’s own, and he looked back, guessing that it must’ve been mostly leg that made up his height.

“What’d he want?” Ron asked in a low whisper as the conversations resumed.

“To give me more potion.” Draco answered, keeping the rest for later. He would wait until he and Ron were away from possible eavesdroppers to tell him anything else.

“Here, dear, fresh cup.” Molly leaned forward holding out a teacup. Draco took it graciously, and glanced at Granger, in case she planned on making him jump again.

“Don’t give me that look, it was an accident!” Hermione didn’t miss his gaze, and he smirked, clearing his mind, and focusing only on Snape’s ugly face. Her cheeks went pink, and she looked away, her face irritated. Well, she wasn’t a complete washout of Legilimency. She must have learned quickly, and Draco wondered a moment why her learning the skill was to be a secret.

“Granger.” Her eyes turned back to him, and he thought pointedly in her direction. _“If you can hear my thoughts, scratch your nose.”_

“Yes, Malfoy?” She asked politely, her index finger rubbing the tip of her nose briefly. He grinned.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” He asked boredly, knowing that a few eyes had turned back to stare at his voice. _“Is your freakish progress with that why Snape wants it a secret? Tap your fingers for yes.”_

“Mrs. Weasley was planning to make tomato bisque, with garlic bread. Anything else you’d like, Malfoy?” she replied swiftly, drumming her fingers impatiently on the chair.

“No, that sounds lovely.” He said honestly. It did sound amazing. He looked away as his stomach grumbled, wondering if it was due to the second potion he’d been given.

“Oh, Ron, Severus mentioned earlier he wanted a word with you, too. He must’ve forgotten to say.” She indicated the door, and Malfoy felt his stomach turn over uncomfortably at the thought of being left alone in the pack of people who clearly distrusted him.

“Ugh, I’d rather eat a plateful of those horrid mushrooms we found last year, than go chat with Snape.” He muttered, glaring at the floor a moment.

“More potion. It’ll help.” Draco whispered too quietly for anyone except Ron to hear. “Don’t forget not to sip, though.”

Ron gave him a nasty look, but got to his feet and shuffled toward the door. He reached for the knob, but hissed, and jerked his arm back, muttering to himself before he went through. Draco looked to his sock-covered feet, the carpet, and then the metal handle that swung back into place as the door closed. He got to his own feet, taking the blanket with him as he moved away from the fire, to the edge of the room. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and pretended to be inspecting the bookshelves that lined the walls, the paintings that hung between them, and the view outside a window. His feet slid him in a wide arc around the couch, and he fought to keep his grin from his face as he looked around the room whose backs were now mostly to him. He stared at Bill’s head a second, yearning to shock the man for being so nasty to him the past few days. His eyes slid over Longbottom, but he discarded the idea quickly.Too much animosity for the joke to go over well, there. No one seemed to be a good candidate, besides possibly Mr. Weasley, who, as he watched the man chat with his son, seemed like an older version of Ron. He’d also been one of the few to be welcoming of Draco, and he _was_ right next to Bill.

Malfoy slid across the rug, quietly approaching the turned backs of the husbands that sat on the floor, inching himself into the small space between the arm of the couch, and the chair where Fleur sat. Molly looked up at him, and he held a finger to his lips quickly, offering her the teacup he still held, and a smile that promised his intentions weren’t nefarious. She took the porcelain silently, her brows furrowed in confusion. Draco grinned to himself, reached out, and tapped Bill’s ear.

“Ah! Hey, what the-” Bill turned to see Draco grinning down at him, and his face fell instantly into a scowl, his fingers twitching over his wand.

“Blame Ron, he showed me.” Draco shrugged, taking his tea from the angry man’s mother.

“I remember you boys used to do that all the time!” Arthur chuckled, and Draco saw Molly’s nostalgic smile. “Got bloody irritating after a week. Couldn’t turn my back without getting a shock.”

“Language!” Molly chided without any real vigor, tapping the top of her husband’s head.

Malfoy sipped at his cooling tea and lifted his eyebrows at Bill, waiting to see if he’d try to retaliate with a hex while his parents sat right there, clearly accepting Draco among them.

“Going to start another month-long war…” Bill muttered, finally turning away from Draco, to glare at the fire instead, while his parents continued to reminisce.

Ron came back up the stairs, looking irritated, and his eyes darted around the room, confused when he couldn’t find Malfoy where he’d left him. Draco stood up straighter, silently announcing his position, and Ron looked relieved. He moved to sit where he had been, and Malfoy followed, sitting delicately and sipping at his tea, feeling the heat from the fire, and the tea in his hands make his skin start to prickle with discomfort.

“I shocked Bill. With the carpet thing.” Draco murmured poking Ron’s fingers, and getting him, too.

“Ah!” Ron’s hand jerked, but he grinned. “He didn’t kill you, then?” His blue eyes turned to inspect Bill’s still irate face, and he laughed gently to himself. Draco’s lips mimicked the laughter silently, and he stared down into his tea, feeling ravenous, and happy, despite the people that surrounded them.


	11. In The Dark

Ron settled into bed, wearing thick wool pajama pants and a long sleeved t-shirt. It was the first time he’d changed for bed in so long he couldn’t quite remember. Possibly since he’d stayed with Bill and Fleur after escaping Malfoy Manor.

Ron lay more toward the middle of the bed, knowing without a doubt that as soon as Draco got in, he’d be right up against him. It wasn’t even something he needed to contemplate. The fire had been nice, but not that, nor the sky overhead had managed to banish the cold that was still lodged inside his chest. He was going to ignore the very pointed look Hermione had given him earlier at dinner. It was none of her business of they were holding hands under the table, and if he made a fool of himself trying to eat left handed, it wasn’t her place to say anything about it.

Malfoy came into the room, his hair damp from a recent shower, a towel slung around his hips, and a hand brushing the long blond locks from his face so he could watch his footsteps to the closet.

Ron watched him walk, observing the short steps, the slight hunch of his shoulders against the chilly air, the slope of his ribs and prominent hips. He’d already put on a little weight, his stomach more flat than hollow, and his skin was flushed pink from the shower, a much healthier color than the nearly jaundiced pallor he’d had that first night. Ron had noticed the same changes in his own appearance, and now knew it was due to the potion Snape had given them. It’d given them a couple weeks worth of healing instantly, and even though it had tasted awful, Ron was grateful for it.

“You changed into pajamas?” Draco asked, sticking his head back out of the closet, holding the sweater that Ron had been wearing earlier.

“Yeah. The jeans were getting more uncomfortable than the cold.” He answered, shrugging under the heavy blanket.

“Mm.” Malfoy answered, ducking back into the closet.

Ron fell into thought as the sounds of dressing came from the cracked doorway. Dinner had been amazing, and he’d managed two helpings, plus the fried cheese sandwiches his mother had added. He’d had Draco on one side, and Hermione on the other. He’d noticed that she and Snape always sat together at mealtimes, and nearly laughed. The thought of her and Snape being sentimental or lovey-dovey was nearly impossible to picture. The thought of anything more was stomach-churning. But the way they’d talked quietly, the relaxed way Snape touched her, and chatted, like he was a normal human, was irrefutable proof that Hermione hadn’t been lying. Toward everyone else he still acted like a giant dick, but toward her, he seemed… Caring? It was the most positive emotion he’d ever seen Snape display, and it was incredibly strange seeing him anything other than irritable.

“Did Snape just give you the potion, or did he threaten you, too?” Malfoy asked, finally climbing into the bed, and rolling next to Ron on his back. His hand was already trying to weasel its way under Ron’s torso, and he lifted himself, so the slightly wiggling fingers wouldn’t tickle him.

“Just gave me the potion. He threatened you?” Ron was instantly bristling, but draped his arm across Malfoy’s stomach, and lay back down in their comfortable embrace.

“Mmhm. Told me to pass it along. So: Granger’s learning to read minds, but it’s a secret, and only we know. Don’t tell anyone else.”

‘Why’s it a secret?” Ron asked, thinking of how he’d want to brag if it was something he’d been learning.

“Apparently she’s freakishly good at it, and they don’t want that being common knowledge. In case it gets back to You-Know-Who, I guess. Make her a target, probably.” Malfoy replied with a yawn.

“Oh. She is? I thought she wasn’t that far along?” Ron remembered what Draco had said about it taking years to learn properly.

“Well, it’s Granger. Apparently she’s far beyond where she should be. Actually, if you get her attention, you can have secret conversations with her. Just think the words, and she can hear them.” Malfoy sounded a bit impressed, and Ron grinned.

“Of course she’d be better at reading minds than normal. She’s always been good at knowing what’s going on in everyone’s head, anyway.” He recalled fifth year, when she’d tried to explain Cho’s feelings to him and Harry. It’d sounded like total gibberish to him at the time.

“Well, be careful. I don’t know how good she is, but if you do look her in the eyes, just try not to think anything embarrassing, just in case.” Malfoy said, wiggling slightly to get comfortable. Ron nodded against his shoulder in understanding, and almost sighed when Draco’s hand lifted to his hair, stroking gently.

“Apparently Snape owes her a life debt.” Ron muttered, recalling how Hermione had defended him earlier.

“Nhg.” Was all the blond could manage through another yawn, his fingers clenching around red fluff as he did so. His fingers were tracing patterns on Ron’s skull again before Ron could say anything else, and Ron’s eyes closed, leaving him drifting in the feeling of warmth.

* * *

Draco brushed his fingers through the soft hair, feeling sleep pull at his eyelids, despite the light he’d forgotten to turn off. Ron’s deep breathing said he was already asleep, and Malfoy let himself follow, not daring to disturb his redhead just for the lights.

* * *

A loud crashing noise brought Draco gasping awake, his eyes flying around, looking for the danger. Ron shot upright next to him, his hand scrabbling around the sheets for a wand that wasn’t there.

The pair made terrified eye-contact for a moment, listening to the sounds of shouting, and someone speaking in return, and another resounding bang.

Ron was out of the bed in an instant, racing for the door, and Draco managed a choked ‘no’, before it was flung open.

“Calm down! Diggle, you need to calm down, there’s no danger!” Snape was speaking in a deep baritone over the shouts of the pajama-clad man. He was waving an end-table in the air, and Malfoy heard ‘Death Eater’ several times in his litany of threats and shouts.

“Dedalus! It’s okay, he’s one of us!” Arthur and Molly Weasley had appeared in the Hallway, and Malfoy took himself out of bed, following after Ron to watch the scene unfolding.

“Bunch of imposters! You’ll not take me alive again!” Diggle shouted, thrusting the chair forward as a defense.

“Dedalus, we’re not imposters, Molly and I hosted you and Hestia at our house the night before you departed to take the Dursley family into hiding. If you remember, we had jam cake for dessert, and you told me in private that Molly’s cooking was the first decent home-cooked meal you’d had in years.” Arthur quickly spewed the words, and the whole hall went silent, heads poking out of doors to see the commotion.

The man’s eyes were narrowed, and he looked around, taking in all the faces, landing briefly on Snape, and then Malfoy. Draco retreated slightly, tucking his left arm behind him, hiding the black mark that had been revealed by the t-shirt he’d chosen to sleep in.

“You may be the real Arthur Weasley, but you’re in the company of two Death Eaters. What am I to make of that, Arthur? How can I believe it’s not a trap?”

“They’re on our side, Dedalus. The Malfoy boy was in Azkaban, same as you, and Severus has proven that he was working on Dumbledore’s orders the whole time.” Arthur said with complete confidence. “They’re just as much at risk as any of us. Please, put the table down.” Arthur reasoned, stretching one arm out in a trusting gesture.

“Why’d you do it, Snape?” His untrusting eyes turned to the dark haired man, and all other looks followed, waiting for the man’s answer.

“He asked me to. He’d been cursed, and didn’t have long, so he made me swear to do it.” Snape answered coolly, his face turned away from Draco, hiding his expression.

“He did?” Diggle looked around, as if asking for confirmation. Hermione nodded, and stepped forward.

“He did. We can tell you more, but, first, I think you should have something to eat.” She said, offering him a smile. “There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

The man seemed beguiled by Granger, and Draco watched as he slowly put the table down, looking sheepishly around at the faces peering from doorways.

“S’pose I’ve made a right fool of myself…” He muttered, brushing down the front of his cotton pajama shirt.

“Nonsense. Anyone would’ve been disoriented.” Arthur said, patting the embarrassed man on the shoulder, and leading him downstairs.

“Sorry, guys. You can go back to bed now.” Hermione said, lifting the table to place it back where it belonged along the wall.

“Not bloody likely.” Bill muttered, but disappeared back into his room, pulling his wife with him. As Snape followed Arthur and Diggle down the stairs, Malfoy realized that he was wearing a long-sleeved black t-shirt, and simple black trousers, with house slippers on his feet. It was jarring seeing the man wearing something so informal. He couldn’t recall ever seeing the man in anything but full teacher’s robes. To make things even weirder, Granger was dressed in a short pink nightgown, and as she hurried after the small group going below, her face was flushed nearly pink enough to match.

Draco had the strangest feeling that Diggle waking up had interrupted more than sleep. He shook that disgusting thought from his head and pulled Ron by the wrist back into their room.

* * *

Ron stared at the vast expanse of leg that showed underneath Hermione’s nightgown, stunned that his bookish friend would wear so little. He’d never seen her wear such skimpy nightclothes before, and his eyes swept suspiciously over Snape,who looked downright ridiculous in plain clothes. His slippered feet were a strange sight, as was the defined shape of his torso and arms beneath the stretchy shirt he wore. It was absolutely odd seeing the two dressed so uncharacteristically.

“C’mon.” Draco’s hand slid around his wrist and pulled him back through their door. Ron went, feeling as though he’d been hit over the head with a club. The shock of being startled awake, and witnessing an obvious indication of Hermione and Snape’s ‘relationship’ had left him feeling stunned, rather like he was still in a dream. Only nothing he dreamed could have been so weird.

“D’you reckon they’re sleeping together? Snape and Hermione?” Ron asked, allowing Malfoy to tug him all the way back to the bed, now washed in darkness.

“Dunno. S’pose they could be. She looked dressed for it.” Malfoy said contemplatively, as Ron crawled under the covers through Draco’s side of the bed.

“Oh, sorry.” Malfoy said a moment later, looking contrite. Ron lifted an eyebrow.

“For what?” He asked, as Malfoy settled next to him on the edge of the bed. Their arms wrapped around each other comfortably, and Ron rolled slightly so he was once again half on top of the blond. Unlike the first morning he’d woken up in such a position, it felt completely natural, as though they’d been sleeping like that for years; a position they fell into without question, or fussing.

“For saying that. It’s not something I’d like hearing, if it were my ex.” Malfoy intoned, his voice sounding muffled through his chest.

“She’s not _really_ my ex, though, is she? We only kissed the once.” Ron muttered, feeling his face heat.

“Oh. I thought you two were… for a long time…” Malfoy sounded confused, and Ron chuckled at the others discomfort.

“Nah. We kinda went around in circles for a long time, not wanting to be the first to say it, and then, with the war on, it was kind of never… The right time.” Ron thought back, feeling a bit bitter. Would Hermione have waited for him if they’d actually been together that whole time? Would he be sleeping with her now, instead of Malfoy? He imagined it a moment, seeing long legs wrap around himself, the body heat seeping through thin cloth as they snogged, and maybe, she’d be willing to go further.

The warmth on his face from Malfoy’s chest made the image a little too easy to imagine, and the way he squirmed to get his legs comfortable under the sheet changed the little fantasy of Ron’s ever so slightly, but enough. It was blond hair he’d grab, pale hands that would touch him. Grey eyes that would be heavy-lidded with lust.

In the dark, Ron felt his face heat with sudden shame at what he was imagining. It was just because of Hermione’s stupid words that he was even thinking it. He’d never fancied blokes before, and he didn’t think he did now.

A throbbing discomfort in his flannel pants told him he was at least partially wrong. The imaginary Draco had given him half a hard-on, and he tilted his hips backward, hoping to keep that glaring state from becoming common knowledge. His face felt like it would catch fire, and he wasn’t sure he could handle the humiliation if Malfoy realized he’d gotten hard while cuddling him.

“Something wrong?” Malfoy was looking down at him, his neck craned at an awkward angle.

“No. M’fine.” Ron said, shaking his head, and he closed his eyes, hoping to discourage any further questions. Draco fell silent, but his fingers began sifting through Ron’s hair, soothingly. Ron swallowed deeply, trying not to think about the fact that what had been a tranquilizing gesture just a few hours ago now seemed to be adding fuel to the fire in his trousers.

“Ahh, stop.” He finally gave in, shaking his head slightly to dislodge the hand. It dropped instantly, and Malfoy turned slightly to look at him.

“Sorry.” The blond mumbled, his whole body unnaturally still.

“Sorry, it wasn’t bad.” Ron tried to allay his friend’s obvious irrational upset at thinking he did something wrong. Malfoy said nothing, and Ron sighed.

“It really was nice. Just… it was keeping me awake a bit.” He tried to excuse his sudden prohibition.

“Oh?” Draco replied, his chest moving with breath, and his feet twitching slightly under the blankets.

“Yeah. You can do it more later, though, if you want.” Ron consented, nestling his face against the blond’s shirt to get comfortable. His toes were at the edge of the bed, but he didn’t want to move higher and give up his comfortable position on Malfoy.

“Alright.” Draco whispered, his fingers making a scratching noise underneath the sheets. Ron reached out a hand automatically, reaching across Malfoy’s stomach to grab the haunted fingers. He twined them together easily, and forced himself to think thoughts of cold showers and his Aunt Muriel, so he might be able to fall back asleep.

* * *

Draco listened as Ron’s breathing evened out, his chest rising and falling slowly, his thoughts occupied with Granger and Snape. It was an unlikely couple, true enough, but he had to admit that it seemed to work. Granger, the bossy, bookish know-it-all _would_ end up with an older man. And a professor, at that. He tried not to think about the fact that it was Severus Snape, and compared them. They were complete opposites, yet they seemed to be a perfectly balanced couple that didn’t put themselves on display for the world to watch, while still maintaining a closeness he’d noticed since Ron had told him about them. At mealtimes, they always sat together, and he’d occasionally see them chatting, their heads close together, and once, he was certain he saw Granger jump, and the ghost of a smirk cross Snape’s face as though he’d pinched her under the table.

Draco wondered if they were really doing what their undress had suggested, and couldn’t quite imagine either Snape, nor Hermione being so passionate or physical. He hadn’t seen them kiss in public, but logic stated that if they were ‘dating’ as she’d claimed, they must at least do that.

He looked down at Ron’s peaceful face, his thoughts swirling around the last kiss _he’d_ had. It had been Pansy, his sixth year, sometime around Christmas…

Ron was softly snoring, his fingers twitched in Draco’s and grey eyes fell to the pink lips that were slightly parted. Did he want to kiss a man? He couldn’t recall ever really _wanting_ to kiss someone before. Pansy had pushed herself on him, and he’d had to squeeze his eyes closed every time, hoping he wasn’t doing it wrong. He turned the thoughts over, recalling how his father had drilled into him the need to marry and produce an heir, that he would make a good financial and genetic match, love had nothing to do with it. Draco hadn’t tried to like anyone more than anyone else, determined to love whoever his wife was, despite his father’s insistence that it didn’t matter. He knew some wizards fancied other men, but he was a Malfoy. He had to have a wife, and a child, so the thought of being with a man hadn’t even crossed his mind. But not anymore. Now, he could do whatever he fancied, and for all intents and purposes, it was seeming more and more like he fancied blokes. Or, at least one in particular.

He wasn’t sure anymore if he wanted to touch Ron because he’d been deprived of something so nice for so long, or if he wanted to be close to him because he was _him_. He didn’t even care that Mr. Weasley already suspected there was something funny going on, he needed to know how he really felt. Who he really was.

He looked again to Ron’s lips, and licked his own, wondering if he could get away with one simple test without Ron waking up. Malfoy played a bit with his fingers, seeing how deep his sleep was. Ron didn’t even breathe differently.

Draco took a deep, calming breath, and tilted his head slightly, trying not to move his shoulder, or risk jostling the redhead who rested at his clavicle. He hesitated, his neck already starting to smart, his heart racing in his chest, his eyes locked on the closed lids of the slightly upturned face he was so close to. One last chance to decide to act like a sane wizard, and just go to sleep.

He pressed forward, touching his lips lightly against Ron’s, holding his breath, and hoping he didn’t wake up. They were soft, fuller than Pansy’s, and warm. His lips were dry, and Malfoy relished the feeling of not bathing in saliva, as he’d often felt kissing Pansy. It was nice, and he wanted to keep kissing him, but instead he pulled away and let his head fall back onto the pillow, feeling as though his heart might explode right out of his chest. It was beating furiously, and he could feel the adrenaline rushing through him, making his arms and legs tingle with the need to move, to dispel the swelling feeling in his stomach.

He wanted to steal another kiss, but dared not tempt fate so much in one night. It was a miracle Ron hadn’t woken up and discovered he was being defiled. Malfoy closed his eyes, willing his heart to calm down, and his lips to stop burning with the need to press again into Ron’s. At least there was no more doubt for him; he definitely fancied Ron Weasley.


	12. Closer

Ron woke groggily, snuggling closer to Malfoy, pressing his face unceremoniously into the blond’s neck and hair, trying to hide from the dim sunlight that filtered through the white curtains. He’d been having the best dream, but the harder he tried to recall it, the further from his mind it slipped.

It’d been a week since Malfoy’s last breakdown, since his mother had arrived, and despite the swell of people that now lived in the house, Ron had witnessed Malfoy beginning to come out of his shell. He’d talked for what seemed like hours to Ron’s mum, his face transfixed as he listened and laughed along to her stories of Ron as a child. Ron had been red-faced throughout the entire ordeal, trying desperately to stop the woman from embarrassing him, and was still unable to get Draco to stop teasing him about a few of the things he’d learned.

“Stop poking me…” Draco grumbled tiredly, his hand pushing half-heartedly at Ron’s hip.

Ron felt his face heat instantly at the realization that he was sporting an erection, and suddenly, he remembered his dream. It had been full of platinum hair and white skin.

“Sorry!” Ron tried to untangle himself from his bedmate, desperate to get away before the half-asleep man realized what was pressed into his thigh.

“Ow! Hey! Stop!” Malfoy was suddenly very awake, and staring balefully up at Ron, rubbing the spot on his chest that Ron had accidentally elbowed. Their legs were still tangled together, and Ron felt his blush spreading to his ears and neck as Malfoy shifted, trying to relieve the discomfort Ron’s struggles had caused.

His leg stretched, and Ron hissed in surprise, tilting his hips away as Draco’s thigh pressed firmly, if briefly, into his hard-on.

“Ron…” Draco blinked up at him, his eyes wide, his eyebrows lowering in contemplation, his mouth hanging slightly open in bewilderment. “Was that…”

“No!” Ron denied, losing the battle against his own face. He knew he must resemble a beet, and tried once more to dislodge himself from the bed.

“Hey! Ow!” Draco yelped, grabbing Ron’s shirt to stop his movements. “Calm down! It’s not like it’s a capital offense.” Draco grumbled, scowling at the pain in his leg from Ron’s flailing.

Ron averted his gaze, unable to meet the silvery eyes that had been prominent in his dream. With Malfoy practically underneath him, the dream seemed much too tangible, the way Malfoy’s legs were sliding against his as he extricated them from danger made his dick throb needily. He was a bit surprised his blush hadn’t spread to cover every inch of him in his shame.

“Seriously, I don’t mind. Just stop flailing.” Draco muttered, flopping his legs freely to the mattress, and closing his eyes, like he was going to go back to sleep so easily.

“Well I mind.” Ron admitted, finally rolling from the bed, and standing awkwardly with his back to Draco, not sure he could handle the embarrassment of walking across the room with his trouser tent displayed openly for grey eyes to see.

“Why?” Malfoy asked, his voice clearly nowhere near sleep, but Ron didn’t dare turn to see if his eyes were open again.

“‘Cause it’s… it’s embarrassing.” Ron stammered, staring down at the bulge that refused to retreat. Knowing Draco was just behind him on the bed, sprawled comfortably, possibly looking over at him with those intense silver eyes… he didn’t have any chance of it going down.

“It’s normal. I’d say it’s a good sign, actually.” Malfoy said, sounding almost scholarly as he spoke of the awkward bodily function Ron suffered. “I mean, it didn’t happen in Azkaban, did it?”

“No…” Ron admitted, refusing to turn the question around. He wouldn’t think about anything to do with Draco’s privates. Nothing to do with him being aroused, or-

“Me neither. So it’s gotta be a good thing, right? A sign that nothing’s been permanently lost due to lack of use?” His voice was teasing now, and Ron’s lips twitched in a humored smile on their own.

“Sure. Whatever.” He agreed, looking up at the ceiling, and thinking over his next words for barely a second before they spilled from his lips. “Have you- Has it happened to you since we got out?”

The silence from behind him seemed almost ominous, and he cringed, feeling like an absolute twat.

“No. But it didn’t happen much before, either.” Malfoy finally said, his voice quiet, almost ashamed.

“Oh.” Ron replied dumbly, his embarrassment at his situation lessening as Draco proved he wasn’t going to tease him about it, or get angry. Like everything, he was proving insanely easy to talk to, about anything. “What d’you mean?” Ron asked, finally turning around to face the blond. He sat, lifting one knee slightly to hide the evident traitor.

“Um…” Draco was sitting up now, his legs crossed under the blanket, his back slouched as he rubbed his face. “I got them in the morning from like, twelve to fifteen, but… After You-Know-Who started bunking at the Manor, I… guess I was too scared to even think about things like that.”

“But… At school… weren’t you and Pansy-?” Ron seemed confused, his face screwing up with thought.

“Eh, sort of. She kept throwing herself at me, so I went with it, just to seem more cool, to seem like I had my shit together… But really, it was all for show. She was fairly revolting.”

Ron nodded in agreement, finally feeling the heat in his face receding. He couldn’t even imagine having Pansy Parkinson trying to snog him. Just the thought was enough to pull the blood back from his privates.

“What about you and that Brown girl? Did you two ever…?” Malfoy trailed off, waving a hand to say what he couldn’t.

“Nah. She never let me get farther than snogging. Tried getting under her shirt a few times, and she threatened to call the whole thing off if I didn’t stop pushing my luck.” Ron thought back, grimacing at the memory of the golden curls, the too-wet kisses, the uncomfortable erections she’d left him with nearly nightly.

“What an immense cocktease.” Malfoy sniggered, his head cocked to the side in a familiar way that Ron recognized as him trying to visualize the scenario.

“So, you and Parkinson never got farther than snogging, either?” Ron asked, trying not to seem unnaturally interested in Draco’s lovelife. What if he realized Ron was imagining him naked, panting, and sweaty? Would he be revolted? Would he demand someone switch rooms with him? Ron sure hoped he never had to find out.

“Sort of. Pretty much the opposite of Brown. She kept trying to go further, and I kept backing away. One time, she got her hand down my pants, and I swear I thought my cock was never going to unshrivel.”

Ron found himself laughing at the vulgarity of Malfoy’s words, and the absolutely ridiculous image of Parkinson searching in vain for an erection she could never cause. He really wouldn’t wish that beast on anyone.

“Ron, Draco, are you awake?” Hermione’s voice came through the door, followed by a few short knocks, making them both jump in surprise.

“Uhh, yeah!” Ron called, checking to make sure his pants weren’t saluting anymore.

Hermione pushed the door open, her eyes darting around the room, and finding them easily. Ron noticed Malfoy look pointedly at her stomach, keeping his gaze away from hers. Ron followed his example, and looked to the left of her head. It had been a strange week, avoiding her eyes all the time, but with the things he’d been thinking about Malfoy, he really felt it was the least awkward of his choices.

“Breakfast is getting cold. Oh, and Ron, your mum wants help in the garden after you’re finished.” She announced, her eyes darting from one wary set of eyes to another. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just too early to be sharing private thoughts.” Malfoy replied quickly, and Ron bit back a groan. He was just going to make her more curious.

“Really? You two weren’t… _Doing_ anything?” She sounded almost smarmy, and Ron saw her face filled with an expression that seemed to mock Snape’s usual _‘there are no secrets from me’_ smirk.

“No! We were talking about exes.” Ron quickly tried to remedy the misunderstanding, while Draco looked downright horrified.

“Just how ‘talented’ are you, Granger? Are you picking up on random thoughts without any sort of… Anything?” He asked, looking at her as though she’d grown another head.

“No!” Hermione said too quickly, her cheeks flushing with her lie.

“Sweet Merlin. Nothing is safe anymore.” Malfoy muttered, rolling from the bed, and running a hand through his hair as he walked to the closet to get dressed.

“Hermione, can you… turn it off?” Ron asked, feeling suddenly as though he weren’t wearing any clothes. Did she already know about everything he hadn’t told Malfoy?

“If I focus, yes. It’s almost like… Doing it is more natural than not, now. But if it makes you so uncomfortable, I’ll make an effort to keep away from your guys’ thoughts.” Hermione said, looking guilty. “And yes, sometimes I pick up much more than I ever wanted to.”

“Stop doing that!” Ron chastised, realizing she’d just replied to his internal worries, rather than spoken words.

“Sorry!” Hermione yanked her gaze away, and nearly ran from the room. Ron grumbled to himself as the door snapped closed, and followed Draco into the closet, ready to get breakfast, and into the gardens. Anything to take his mind off the fact that Hermione was apparently privy to things he didn’t even like admitting to himself.

“So she’s reading minds without even trying… And likely, knows everyone’s secrets. Remind me not to piss her off anytime soon.” Draco mused as Ron stepped into the large square dressing room. He kept himself from staring at the bare expanse of alabaster skin that was exposed as his roommate pulled the sleep shirt off, and reached for a clean one.

“You should wear a t-shirt.” Ron advised, eyeing the long sleeves he was about to pull on.

“I’d rather keep people from staring.” Draco retorted, pulling the dark green over his head.

“You think they’ll stare less if you’re dressed strangely? At least wear a thinner one.” Ron said, eyeing the thick woven fabric, as Draco paused, his eyes on Ron’s, the shirt barely past his head.

“Alright.” He pulled it right back off, and reached for a thinner cotton one. Ron tore his eyes away from the half-naked body next to him, and began changing his own clothes, suddenly feeling very aware of how thin he still was. He’d always been slim, but even a week and a half, and three doses of Snape’s potion hadn’t gotten him back to his normal weight. His ribs were still visible, his hipbones jutted out, and he thought his elbows sometimes resembled spikes. He hadn’t been bothered by his thinness in anything more than a health capacity at first, but now, as he stole a glance at Malfoy’s covered form, which had seemed to be gaining weight faster than Ron’s, he wondered if his thinness would ever be a detracting factor in someone fancying him. _Someone_. He nearly scoffed. He knew exactly who he meant. And apparently so did Hermione.

He yanked a shirt over his head and heard Malfoy step out of the closet. From the dreams he’d been having, and the hard-ons he’d been getting nearly all week, it seemed like he really did fancy Malfoy. Now he just had to figure out if Draco was having similarly confusing thoughts.

* * *

Sweat trickled down the small of Draco’s back, but he didn’t dare take a break. He didn’t even pause. Ron had, of course, been right; the long sleeves were nearly suffocating in the midday sun, the fair spring weather not having any mercy for the former Death Eater. His platinum hair was plastered to his forehead, and he was certain that if his shirt stuck any closer to his skin it would become part of him permanently.

His fingers picked at weeds diligently, the task comfortable on his quick nimble fingers, soothing the ever-present ache to claw at a wall he was no longer trapped by. Molly had complimented his perseverance despite the heat, but Ron had only given him a strange look, somewhere between worried and understanding. The slim redhead’s own hands had been working tirelessly, if at a slower pace, his kneeling body falling further behind Draco’s swiftly moving form. The large garden would soon be totally free of weeds, and afterward, Draco wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself. The week had been getting progressively harder, and two-facedly easier. His strength had nearly completely returned, he’d even noticed his muscles beginning to come back in. Whatever had been in the potion Snape had given them it’d done wonders to not only return their energy, but their weight, color, and apparently, in Ron’s case, libido as well. But with that extra power came uncomfortably strong urges to kiss his best friend again. To hold him in front of everyone else, to prove that he wasn’t going to disappear or betray the only person he’d felt such a connection with. The others mostly avoided speaking to him, which he supposed was an improvement over the constant glares and snarky remarks. To his absolute surprise, Hermione seemed to be the next person on her way to trusting him, making an effort to include him in her conversations, and keeping her tone friendly. In hindsight, he supposed it must’ve been due to the fact that she could see his intentions. If she was a powerful enough Legilimens to be skimming people’s thoughts without effort, then surely she’d seen just how close he and Ron had gotten. Surely she knew of Draco’s secret kiss. The stolen peck he’d thought about for nearly a whole week. Surely she…

His fingers froze, halfway through the motion of yanking out the roots of a rather large clump of weeds. Surely she knew Ron’s thoughts as well. That was it then! He didn’t have to worry about ruining the comfortable companionship he had with Ron by asking Ron if he fancied him. He could just ask _her_.

He shot to his feet, wiping his hands hastily on his jeans and throwing an excuse for needing the restroom over his shoulder as he rushed inside. He had no idea where she’d be, and needed to buy himself time to chat with her before Ron came looking for him. He knew, like gravity, Ron would come looking. He always did, either out of concern, or his own need not to be left alone.

“Granger?” Malfoy called sticking his head first in the sitting room, then the living room. He darted up the stairs. Glad that the quick dash didn’t tire him out in the least, that his legs didn’t wobble at the top. He knocked on the door he knew was her and Snape’s. A quick shudder of revulsion at that thought, and no answer. Where the hell was she? He skipped back down the stairs, and looked around, at a loss. Would she be with Snape? He was almost always in the cellar, brewing up one potion or another. He trotted across the living room, yanked the door open and called down.

“Granger? You down there?” He could see the soft light and hear the soft crackling of a fire underneath at least one cauldron.

“Yes! I’m ah… I’m down here.” Her voice sounded breathy, and Draco paused, staring down at the wan light with suspicion.

“May I come down?” He called politely, chancing a glance back over his shoulder.

“You may.” A deeper voice answered, and he felt his face flush a bit as he descended the stairs.

“What is it?” Hermione asked in a friendly voice as he entered the open space of Snape’s workshop. She was leaning casually against a worktable, and Snape was stirring one of many concoctions. Malfoy looked from one to the other inquisitively. Her cheeks were flushed and his back was turned, but there was definitely something off.

“Did you need something?” Snape barked with a bit more short-temper, turning to fix his student with a threatening glare. Draco forced his eyes back to Granger.

“Could I speak with you alone a moment, Granger?” He asked, feeling color rise to his cheeks as he occluded his thoughts of Ron. He didn’t want to ask those sorts of things in front of Snape. He’d never be able to face him again.

“You know he’s going to know what you have to say, regardless?” Hermione glanced from him to Severus and back, her mouth open, but hesitating before she finished. “A relationship with two Legilimens makes it difficult to hide much of anything.”

Draco paused, looking to Snape’s back, and then to the searching brown eyes of Hermione. It wasn’t possible that Snape had _actually_ let her read his thoughts, was it? Did she know the mysteries behind the bat-like Slytherin? It didn’t seem likely, but would he even have been able to keep her out?

“That’s none of your business, Draco.” Hermione’s voice held an edge of steel, and he felt his face flush, and pulled his occlumency lessons back over his mind.

“I’d still like to speak alone.” He let his mental guard down a bit, shooting the thoughts at her behind Snape’s back _“I don’t think I’ll be able to say it in front of him.”_

“Very well.” Hermione pushed away from the table, shaking her bushy hair as she followed him back up the steps. Snape kept on stirring, unbothered by his 'girlfriend’s' departure. Draco led her to the living room, and paused, closing the door so their voices wouldn’t carry back down to the raven-haired potions master. He scanned the living room, found it empty, and kept his voice lower than a whisper.

“I wanted to ask you about Ron.” His cheeks were blazing now. If she hadn’t picked up on his confused crush before, there was about to be no way out.

“Oh? His favorite color is sky blue, he’s six foot four, loves custard on his pudding, and his favorite food is probably chicken.” She answered with a sarcastic stare.

“No, not that. I…” Draco glared at her. He couldn’t help it. He’d hated her since he’d started school, and now, he needed her help. “I wanted to know what he thinks about me.”

“No. Speaking with a person about their own thoughts is one kind of awkward. Speaking with you about someone else’s is unethical.” Hermione shot him down instantly.

“Uugh. Please, Granger! I can’t ask him! You know, don’t you? What Mr. Weasley asked me? How I’ve been trying to figure it out since?”

Hermione bit her lip, worrying the delicate skin, but nodded. “Sorry, I… try not to pry, but sometimes I just.. Can’t stop it.”

His face flushed beet colored, he was sure, but he charged on, desperate to end his horrible limbo.

“Then I just need a simple yes or no on whether bringing that up with him would end our friendship.” Draco tried to make it as easy as possible for her to break her friend’s mental confidence. He HAD to know.

“I… I’m not sure. I can’t see the future, Draco, so no matter what either of you thinks about, I can’t be certain how your dynamic might change if either of you were to-”

“Granger!” Malfoy snapped, cutting her off and fixing her with his most scathing glare. “I didn’t ask for insight into the future. Does. Ron. Feel. The. Same?”

“Ask him yourself. I’m sick of overhearing the pair of you everytime I sit down to dinner, so you’d better work it out. Each of you seems to be screaming as loudly as a freight train with your damn questions. You’re both morons.” With that, Hermione turned on her heel and marched back down to the potions lab, leaving a very stunned Draco standing, staring blankly at the door. What had _that_ meant? Ron had doubts too? About them, or something else? Couldn’t she have been more specific?

“Draco? What’re you staring at the door for?” Ron’s voice made him nearly jump out of his skin. He turned, the dirt-smudged sight of his best friend felt like someone was scrambling his organs all around his stomach.

“Nothing. Let’s get back to the garden?” Draco offered, ready to put his hands back to work so he wouldn’t march down there and throttle the bushy-haired bint.

* * *

Ron slid into his chair for dinner, his mind feeling like mush, his fingers actually sore from the work they’d put in. He’d been thinking it over all day, and he’d only come up with one solution. He’d have to ask Hermione to dig through Malfoy’s thoughts for him. It was the only way he could find out if Draco would accept him as more than a friend without making an absolute fool of himself.

“Hermione, could you please pass the butter?” He asked, trying desperately to catch her eye. She kept her eyes on her plate, but slid the butter over to him. He half-shouted her name in his mind, hoping to catch her attention. She didn’t look up.

“Draco, you need to eat more than that!” His mother was fussing over the blond, leaning around Ron to place a hand on Draco’s forehead. “Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m fine.” Draco mumbled, pulling away, keeping his own eyes lowered. He dutifully took another bite though, placating Ron’s mother, though he seemed lost in his own world. He’d seemed distracted all day, and Ron fought the urge to reach his own hand out and feel for a fever.

“Hermione, do we have any pumpkin juice, or is it all apple?” Ron asked, swirling the water around in his glace with feigned interest.

“There’s some in the kitchen.” Hermione replied, finally looking up. Ron began shooting his thoughts at her before she could look away.   
_“I need a favor, Hermione. I need you to dig through Draco’s thoughts and find out-”_

She looked away, her eyes darting to Draco, and then back, narrowing suspiciously.

“So, Ron. You said you and Draco were talking about exes this morning. Did I come up at all?” Hermione’s voice was quiet, but her piercing eyes held something he couldn’t quite place. Irritation, maybe.

“Uhh… No… Not really. It was mostly Pansy we talked about.” He lied, tearing his eyes away at the mortifying thought of what had caused their discussion and his admission that Lavender had constantly denied him. He didn’t want Hermione to know any of those things.

“I see.” Hermione turned her eyes back to her food, and let the conversation drop. Ron waited a moment to see if she was going to ask anything else shaming, and then continued his mental assault.

 _“I need to you to find out what he thinks of me. What you thought about us being closer than we are, I need to know if that’s how he-”heard_ their whole conversation?

“Uhh… A bit.” He admitted, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Why was she suddenly so keen on what he and Draco had talked about that morning? Did she really want to know, or was she just asking about the most interesting thing she could find?

“Hm.” Hermione took another bite of her food dropping her gaze again. Ron tried once more.

_“Can you hear me, Hermione? I really need your help. Please? Pleasepleaseplease-”_

“Draco,” Her eyes darted up and found the blond sitting next to him. He sighed with relief. She was going to do it?

“Hm?” He looked up from his meal, but his eyes narrowed as he met her gaze, clearly distrusting of her ability.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to Ron about?” Her eyes were piercing, and Ron felt sorry as Draco’s face flushed slightly.

“Not really.” He mumbled, averting his gaze. Ron looked back to Hermione just in time to see her wiping a malicious smirk that very much ghosted Snape’s from her face.

“Oh, really? Because I remember earlier, you were asking me about whether or not he-”

“Alright! Fine.” Draco lurched to his feet, glaring at her, and drawing the eyes of the rest of the table as he did so. “I’m finished. Ron, I’ll be in our room when you’re done.”

Ron watched him disappear from the room, his face cherry-red. He looked back to Hermione. She was supposed to be getting information, not running him off!

“What was that for?” He snapped at her, feeling an irritated flush start at his ears.

“I just reminded him of something he mentioned earlier. Should I have let him forget?”

Ron glared at her a moment, not sure what game she was playing, but certain there was some game afoot. Was she just trying to avoid having to ferret out secrets?

“Did you look into what I suggested, earlier?” He chanced, trying to ignore the way the rest of the Order was watching his and Hermione’s conversation.

“It’s a very sensitive subject, Ron. I’m not entirely sure it’s suitable for the dinner table, though.” He felt his face go darker than Malfoy’s as her insinuation of what he could have been asking about, and pointedly avoided his mother’s disapproving stare.

“I mean, I have no problem discussing it with you right now, if you don’t mind everyone else knowing about your private-”

“ No! No, that’s fine.” Ron averted his glare, feeling as though his embarrassment could burn a hole through the floor.

“What _are_ you talking about?” Mrs. Weasley had finally had enough, looking quickly from Ron to Hermione, and back. “Are you having problems with something? Has it to do with why you’re not eating dinner? Are you feeling okay? Severus, do we have any pepperup potion?”

“I’m fine, mum!” Ron pushed away from the table. “I’m gonna go see what Draco wanted.” He excused himself, darting into the hall before his mother and Hermione could say anything else to make him want to vanish. He paused in the hallway, hoping Hermione wouldn’t tell his mother what he’d asked her to do. He wasn’t usually the sneaky type, but after how strangely Hermione had been acting, he felt a bit of covert eavesdropping might be necessary.

“Weren’t you a bit insensitive, bringing up personal things like that in front of everyone?” His father’s voice was chastising, and he winced. His father almost never took a cross tone.

“No. If they both want to invade people’s privacy, then they deserve to know what it feels like firsthand. And besides, Arthur, if I hadn’t made them talk to each other, they would’ve kept dancing around the issue, being too scared to be the one to bring it up first.”

“What issue? What’s going on?” His mother sounded confused, but the whole table was silent, and Ron could practically see everyone’s eyes darting around. Did they all know how he felt about Malfoy? Had they all made the same assumption as Hermione?

“You haven’t noticed them holding hands, mum?” Bill’s voice was quiet, but held none of his usual venom for Draco.

“Well of course I have! They do it all the time! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. I’m glad they’re there for each other.” His mother sounded huffy, and Ron knew her arms would be crossed.

“You don’t think it’s a bit strange how they’re always together? You know they sleep together, right?” Bill put in.

“Of course, zere’s only one bed in zeir room!” This time it was Fleur who interjected. “You expect one to sleep on ze floor?”

“No, I mean… _Together_. I’ve gone to check on them a few times in their sleep, make sure Malfoy’s not trying to escape or something, and…”

“They hold each other in their sleep.” Arthur’s voice finished Bill’s sentence. Ron felt as though he was going to sink right through the floor. They’d seen them? Everyone knew? What must they think?

“Can we please stop discussing this? They’re not a sideshow. How they choose to heal is their own business.” Ron was surprised to hear George’s voice join the argument.

“You’re right. They’re not.” Hermione finally spoke up again. “To answer your question, Molly, what’s going in is their own business. They kept trying to drag me into it, and I’ve had enough. They can work out for themselves whether it’s just a coping mechanism or something more.

“What do you mean something more?” Dean piped up, his curiosity clearly too much to hold back.

Hermione gave a sigh, and Ron heard silverware being set down.

“You know exactly what she means.” Snape’s cold voice cut through the tension. “I don’t think a single one of us can deny suspecting them of being more than they let on, but it appears as though they’ve yet to work that out for themselves. So, if everyone could _kindly_ consider how you’d feel in the same situation, we can put this subject back into the box it came from, and get on with dinner.” Ron was nearly stunned to hear Snape be so empathetic, and had a suspicion it was just a ruse to get them all to stop talking about the boys’ possible feelings. Just because he had feelings for Hermione didn’t mean he could feel anything but spite for anyone else. The room devolved into silence, and Ron waited to see if anyone would say anything else before he tiptoed away, and made his way up the stairs.

His fingers landed on the doorknob to his bedroom, and he froze. Draco was in there, and Hermione had been pushing them to talk about their unspoken undercurrent of emotions. Did that mean Malfoy had the same feelings? Was she pushing them to speak so that they’d get uncomfortable and stop touching each other in a way that made the rest of the house so clearly nosy?

He took a few deep breaths and opened the door, mustering all of his Gryffindor courage to do so. The lights were out, and he felt his racing heartbeat slow slightly. He wouldn’t be forced to talk about this in the light, at least.

“Ron?” Draco’s voice called from under the blankets. Ron grinned to himself at Draco’s cowardly hiding spot in the dark.

“The whole house is losing their bloody minds.” He muttered, kicking the trainers from his feet and slipping into his side of the bed. Draco chuckled, but the sound ended too soon, and Ron stared at the sight he hadn’t seen in over a week. The top of Draco’s head poking out of the blanket as though he were a giant snail. Every time they’d been in the bed together they’d slid right up against each other, without effort. Now, due to Hermione’s meddling, it seemed there was enough tension between them that neither dared cross the middle of the bed.

“What were you talking to Hermione about earlier?” Ron encouraged, hoping to put off his own topic for as long as possible.

“Oh… Just um… Something your dad said to me.” Draco’s voice wavered slightly, and Ron scooted closer, tamping down his guilt and reaching his hand across the bed. Malfoy’s fingers twined easily around his, comforting both of them as Ron waited patiently for his friend to continue. “About this, actually.”

He wiggled their hands in indication. Ron felt his face flush all over again.

“The whole Order seems to have one opinion or another about this.” Ron squeezed gently, remembering the argument he’d overheard. Every one of their opinions could be shoved.

“I don’t give a damn about their opinions. They can all get bent.” Draco seethed quietly, scooting himself closer as if to prove his point.

“What’d my dad say to you?” Ron asked, feeling he already had an idea. Malfoy was quiet a moment, the sound of his breathing and warmth of his fingers the only indication he was even present.

“He um… asked if we were ‘more than friends’.” Draco’s voice sounded a bit choked, and Ron felt his face flaming. Of course. Everyone thought they knew. He kept his mouth shut tight, carefully contemplating his next words. He couldn’t give himself away yet. But if he did stand a chance, he couldn’t dismiss the assumptions as ridiculous.

“Hermione asked the same thing when she told me about her and Snape.” Ron added, putting the ball back in Draco’s court. He wasn’t very good at mind games, but he would avoid outright saying it as long as he could. He’d do his damndest to get Malfoy to admit first whether he did or didn’t want more.

“What’d you tell her?”

“Told her it wasn’t the same, didn’t I? No way we’re half as bizarre as her and Snape, no matter how comfortable we are with each other. At least we’re the same age.” Ron said vehemently. He’d neither confirmed nor denied if he agreed with Hermione’s assumption, and was mentally patting himself on the back, when Draco landed the fatal blow.

“What about you? Do you think it’s a sign we’re… friendlier than we should be?” His voice gave nothing away about what he was thinking, and Ron hesitated, thinking desperately for some way not to answer.

“I… don’t know. I mean, I’ve never been this physical with another bloke before, but… I don’t know if that necessarily means whether I fancy men or women. It not like we’re snogging, or… or shagging, is it?” Just the thought brought back his dream. They weren’t shagging, but he was certain he wouldn’t mind if they were. But if they really were 'more than friends' would the rest of the house further lose their minds? Would they stop asking about it if there really were no boundaries? So far the pair had done no more than hold hands, and occasionally lean against one another when others could see, if one disregarded the sneaks that peeped on their sleeping habits. If they cuddled together on a couch, would everyone just assume they’d become more, or would there be endless questions?

“No, we’re not. But does it bother you that they think we are?” Draco danced around it some more, shuffling uncomfortably, his face still hidden. Ron stared at the top of his head, wishing that he could steal Hermione’s intellect for just one brief moment. Or her intuition. When was the right time to admit he _wanted_ to take things further?

“No. Like you said, they can all get bent.” Ron declared, wondering if he was being a total coward. Was it wrong if he wanted to nestle against Malfoy and just ignore this conversation?

“Why do they even think it? I mean, neither of us has ever given a sign of fancying men before.” Draco mused, sounding irritated with the masses. “You _haven’t_ kissed a bloke before, have you?”

Ron nearly choked, sitting bolt upright, his movement dislodging the blankets so he was free to stare down at the perfect blond curled on the bed as he nearly shouted, “No! I told you… only Lavender and Hermione.”

Draco matched his position, pulling himself to sit so he could look dead into Ron’s eyes to continue his interrogation. And Ron _did_ suddenly feel as though he were being interrogated. As though Malfoy knew exactly which questions to ask to sort the problem out without ever saying it directly.

“Would you?”

“Would I kiss a man?” Ron clarified, buying himself time as he studied Malfoy’s face, trying to determine what the right answer was. Was this his opportunity? Or was Draco looking for a solid ‘no’ to comfort himself that Ron was safe to continue touching?

Draco nodded that he had the question right, and Ron felt his face flush bright crimson as he stammered.

“I- I don’t know. Would you?” He shot back, trying to deter the focus away from himself.

“It’s never really mattered to me before. Pansy was a girl, and she was repulsive. How much worse could a guy be?” Malfoy dodged. It wasn’t a no. Ron nodded absently in agreement.

“I suppose you’re right. Can’t be that bad.” Ron muttered, his eyes lingering for a moment on Draco’s lips. Would it be soft, like a girls? Would it be too-wet, like Lavender? Chaste, like Hermione?

“Do you want to try?” Draco’s voice was almost teasing, but his cheeks were flooding with color, his eyes darting between Ron’s, searching his expression. Was it a joke? Was he serious? The question hung in the air a second too long, past the point a joke would be left dangling, and Ron mustered his courage, threw caution to the wind, and nodded.

“Sure.”

Draco visibly swallowed, his hands balling into nervous fists on the bed, and his gaze fell to Ron’s mouth. He still didn’t laugh it off. He jolted into motion, leaning jerkily closer, and Ron copied him, moving so slowly he felt like molasses, but cautious for Draco to halt and exclaim it a prank at any moment. But they were so close he could feel Draco’s breath against his mouth, see the silver flecks in his grey eyes, and watched as lids fluttered closed over the nervous gaze. Soft warm lips pressed delicately to his, and he let his own eyes fall shut, savoring the feeling of Malfoy kissing him. He was _kissing_ him! He could feel his heart stuttering uncomfortably in his chest, and tilted his head a bit, letting their mouths brush across each other, and fitting his own perfectly into the curves of Draco’s. Malfoy’s parted slightly, and that was all the confirmation Ron needed. There was no way this was a joke. He pressed the kiss more firmly, and lifted a hand to cup the back of Draco’s neck. The blond was kissing him back, scooting closer, one hand resting timidly on Ron’s chest.

Ron pressed forward, and in his overeagerness accidentally knocked them both off balance. Draco’s hands balled into fists in his shirt, and Ron fell nearly on top of him, pausing to look down at the flushed face of his best friend. His lips were a slightly darker pink, his long hair fanned out over the mattress, and his chest was rising and falling with quick, nervous pants that held nervous laughter.

Ron pressed their lips together once again, letting his eyes fall closed as he enjoyed the sensation of soft kisses, and warm hands sliding around his waist, pulling him closer. It felt strangely natural to be atop him, kissing him, letting his hands trail through his hair, and down his chest. Any awkwardness he’d felt had vanished, leaving him with only a feeling of rightness, a sense that THIS was the only possible outcome after what they’d already shared.

It was obvious that Draco was just as eager as he was, his mouth teasing Ron’s even though his hands were gripping tightly and his whole body seemed to be trying to press up, closer into his partner’s own shape. His teeth pulled at Ron’s lower lip, his tongue played eagerly with the other, and as Ron let his weight down, pressing Malfoy into the bed, he was taken by surprise to feel that they were both hard. He thought back to what Draco had said about the rare occurrence, and pulled his lips away, unable to keep his thoughts to himself.

“Would you look at that? Seems to be working just fine, now…” Ron teased, letting his eyes fall to Draco’s pajama bottoms, making it blatantly clear what he was talking about. When he looked back up, Draco’s cheeks were dark pink, and his face held a mixture of embarrassment, and desire.

“Hm... Maybe I DO prefer men…” Draco tried to sound cavalier, but Ron could see the tension in every muscle of the blond’s body, every line of his face.

“Maybe you just prefer me.” Ron reflected, hearing the huskiness in his own voice, the cocky tone he wasn’t used to using making him feel a bit awkward as he pressed himself back to Malfoy, crushing their lips together.

They moved instinctively, hips curving into one another’s, hands exploring, testing for any boundaries. Ron was hesitant, almost expecting his hands to get slapped away, as Lavender always would, and was pleasantly surprised as Draco instead matched his eagerness. Pale hands gripped his bum, pulling him harder into the grinding motion, a soft groan of pleasure escaping his lips as he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and let his forehead fall to Draco’s shoulder. One of his hands was under Draco’s shirt, savoring warm soft skin. The other was flat on the bed, bracing his weight as Draco guided the movement, kissing the redhead’s neck enthusiastically, giving a few nips and suckling gently on his pulse-point. He was much better at this that Ron might’ve guessed, and the redhead slid his hand downward, faltering only a moment at the edge of Draco’s pajamas. The cotton was soft against his hand, but the cock straining beneath was rock hard. Ron cupped it with his palm and rubbed, testing the feel of it, letting his fingers encircle what they could through the pants. He felt a heady rush of control as Draco seemed to lose his ability to function. His hands gripped Ron’s hair to pull him into a kiss that muffled the strangled sound of enjoyment that his throat was making, and his eyes were closed tightly, his whole body tensing as his cock twitched under Ron’s hand, and he let out a shuddering breath as Ron felt the wetness seeping through the cotton.

He’d just made Draco Malfoy cum. Through his pants. He looked down at the blond’s flushed face, and saw his eyes blinking open, a self-conscious look filling the silvery depths.

“Sorry…” He mumbled, his cheeks darkening under Ron’s scrutiny, his hands letting the red mane loose.

“That was…” Ron tried to articulate just what he thought of Draco’s performance, but couldn’t think of any words strong enough. He opted instead for pressing his lips to Malfoy’s in a passionate kiss, and pressing his own erection into Draco’s thigh, trying to relieve SOME of the pressure that snogging, and watching his orgasm had created.

* * *

Draco grinned into the kiss, and pressed at Ron’s shoulders forcing him to break the connection. Ron looked down at him inquisitively, and he felt his cheeks darken at his own thoughts.

“Can I try something?” He asked, fighting to keep his voice from breaking with anxiety. He and Ron had just made a huge leap, and he wasn’t quite sure exactly how far it had carried them. He was willing to push those boundaries, though, and find out exactly what Ron would be okay with, now that they seemed to be on the same page.

“Sure.” Ron agreed, following the direction of Draco’s hands. He rolled to the side, and lay flat on his back, staring up with curiosity as Draco pushed his shirt up, forcing him to sit back up briefly, so the garment could be removed.

Without a word, Draco tossed it aside, and leaned down, kissing Ron briefly, before he let his mouth trail lower, down the sandpaper jawline, and along the vein of his throat. He ignored the cooling wetness in his pajamas, and availed himself of the vast expanse of bare skin before him. Ron was lying there, unsure what to do with his hands, letting them ball into fists in the sheet as Draco slid his tongue in a circle around one of Ron’s small pink nipples. He was watching the blond with perverse fascination as he made his way lower, and lower, his eyes growing wider with every inch he descended. Draco kept glancing up at Ron’s face, gauging his reaction, ready to start back up at any sign of displeasure. He made it to the edge of Ron’s jeans unhindered, and reviewed the redhead’s expression. He looked simply amazed at Draco’s actions, and eagerly hopeful at what may have been yet to come. Malfoy smirked, keeping his eyes on Ron’s face as he unbuttoned the denim, and slid the zipper down. Ron’s breath was coming quicker, and his eyes darted from Draco’s eyes, to his hands, disbelief and anticipation warring on his features. With Draco’s face so close to his hardened cock, there was no doubt what he was hoping would happen, and Draco was pleased he didn’t seem at all repulsed by the idea.

With Pansy, he’d never wanted to go any further than necessary to keep up the charade of their relationship. With Ron, he wanted to touch him, kiss him, and by Merlin, he wanted to make Ron’s eyes roll back in his head, and watch as he came. He was curious what it would feel like to have an erection that wasn’t his in his hand, what it might be like to feel it against his tongue.

His felt his cheeks flaming at the thought of what he wanted to do. Was he really so much more eager to touch another man than he had been to touch even himself? He really must prefer men, then, he thought, surprised by just how enthusiastic he felt to have a dick in his mouth. It wasn’t something he’d ever contemplated before Azkaban, and now, as he tugged Ron’s jeans and shorts out of the way, he could think of nothing else.

The stiff column sprang free from its confines, and Draco unconsciously licked his lips, smiling slightly at the sight before him. It was dark pink, curved upward slightly, and twitched under Draco’s gaze. He took it in one hand, testing the feel of it, the weight, the softness. It was slightly longer than his own, but a near match for thickness, the uniformity of its girth strange for him. His own was slightly larger at the center, the gentle swell unhidden by the straight line it liked to stand in.

He pumped the shaft a few times, watching as Ron closed his eyes and tilted his hips into the motion. Now he understood the strange look on Ron’s face just before he’d reached his own orgasm. Making someone writhe with pleasure was exhilarating, and he was keen to coerce Ron into making the same uncontrolled cries of ecstasy he had.

Ron’s eyes were still closed as Draco wrapped his lips around the tip of his hard-on. The groan that followed made Draco fight to keep his face from a smile, and he stroked the underside of the head with his tongue, tasting the hot flesh, the slightly salty flavor of precum. It wasn’t at all as bad as he’d feared it might be, and he took the shaft deeper into his mouth, pressing his whole tongue into the movement, wetting the dry skin for his lips to slide more easily over. Ron was muttering some half-baked swears, and Draco felt a surprised elation as hands slid into his hair, guiding his head where Ron wanted it. He let himself be pulled further and further in, and felt the tip of the cock his his throat. He pulled away quickly, fighting the urge to gag, taking a deep breath to counter the strange sensation.

“Sorry…” Ron apologized in a low voice that sounded thick with desire, his hands sliding away. Draco shook his head, and offered a smile.

“I don’t mind. I’ve just never done this before, so…” He wasn’t sure what to say, HOW to say what he meant. He didn’t mind Ron’s enthusiasm, but he didn’t particularly enjoy worrying he was going to vomit what little dinner he’d had.

“Me neither…” Ron concurred, smiling down at the blond who was still holding his cock. Draco lowered his head, deciding to avoid any awkward discussion by getting back to his mission. He had a redhead to make squirm.

Ron breathed out a sigh when Draco began licking and sucking his erection again, and after a few slow lengths of it, he slid one hand back to Malfoy’s head, but let him set the depth and pace himself. Draco pulled his head up, and suckled delicately at the head, letting his tongue swirl in a circle around the sensitive bulb. Ron groaned, fisting Draco’s hair in a not unpleasant way. It made the blond feel accomplished that he could get Ron to react so forcefully. The thought of Ron being even more assertive made his own cock begin twitching back to life. He could imagine the reckless Gryffindor throwing caution to the wind, and grabbing him with both hands, forcing his mouth down again, and again, urging him to go faster. He moved his head to his own fantasy, bobbing quicker and deeper, as Ron’s hips began pushing up into the motion, getting his cock even deeper into Draco’s mouth, providing even more fire to his fancy. Draco glanced up at the mindlessly blissful expression of Ron’s face, the slight arch of his neck, and the way his bare chest was rising and falling quickly with his breaths. It was like nothing he’d ever seen before, and he slid his mouth all the way onto Ron’s shaft, holding his breath against the choking sensation that made his eyes water.

“Bloody FUCKING hell!” Ron gasped, both hands now gripping Malfoy’s blond hair, holding him in place a moment longer, as his hips thrust up a few times, nearly fucking Draco’s throat. When he allowed Draco to pull back and gasp for breath, his eyes opened, and he looked down at Draco with a mix of guilt, and awe. Before he could offer another apology, Draco was once again sucking on the head of his cock, nearly worshipping the thing in appreciation. He didn’t know what had gotten into him, but the way Ron was manhandling him, cursing, and facefucking him made him even harder, himself. He’d never have allowed anyone to control him the way Ron did when he lost himself, and he never would have let a bloke nearly suffocate him, without consequence. It seemed Ron was bringing out all sorts of strange tendencies in him. Not only was he allowing it… He was enjoying it.

He slid a hand into his own cotton pants, and began stroking himself as he sucked Ron off, his arousal only creeping higher and higher as Ron seemed to take license from Draco’s response. He became even more forceful, his hands tightening nearly painfully in Draco’s hair, his arms forcing the head up and down at a pace Draco could barely keep up with. Draco felt his cock twitch with enjoyment in his hand as Ron held his lips to the base yet again, the rocking motions of his hips matched by Draco’s.

Draco felt his own climax start with Ron’s dick still firmly lodged between his tonsils, and he moaned around it as he came, the blood rushing through his ears almost masking the sound of Ron’s own pleasured growl. As he pumped the last few beads of cum from himself, he found his mouth suddenly void, and managed to pry his eyes open in time to see that Ron had pulled him forcibly from the shaft, and out of the line of his own orgasm. Hands still buried in his hair, Ron was arching his hips with each pulse of his member, each throb releasing a line of white across his stomach, and Draco fought the hold on his head, bringing his mouth back to the side of the shaft, licking firmly up the vein that trailed to the head, reaching the tip just as Ron relaxed, spent, and panting. Draco looked from his sated face, pulling his own hand free of his trousers, and then looked to the threads of semen right before his face. He kept moving forward, his tongue outstretched, his mind focused completely on Ron’s face as he licked up the still-warm trail. It was salty, and a bit bitter, but he pulled his tongue into his mouth, and swallowed, loving the way Ron’s wide-eyed stare was entirely carnal, despite that he’d just climaxed. Malfoy bit his lip, and slid all the way up Ron, pressing a kiss to his soft, plump lips.

He collapsed next to him, trying to catch his own breath feeling content, and… WARM. For the first time since he’d gone into Azkaban, he felt truly warm.


	13. 'The Talk'

Ron woke, warm, and comfy. His face was buried in Draco’s shoulder, and his arm was draped over his waist. He breathed in contentment, closing his eyes, not ready to get up quite yet.

The feeling of a hand sifting through his hair alerted him to the fact that Malfoy was awake as well, and he lifted his head, prying his eyelids apart, and met a liquid silver stare. Soft lips pressed hesitantly to his, and he let his eyes fall back closed. His heart was racing in an instant, and he was suddenly very aware that he’d woken up in much the same state he had yesterday. The difference was that today, instead of fighting to get away, he pressed closer, deepened the kiss, and rolled nearly on top of the blond.

Draco responded enthusiastically, his hands gripping Ron’s rear, as he’d done the night previous, and pulling the redhead’s hips against his. He kissed him as though he were the only oxygen supply in the room. Ron grinned, thankful beyond belief that last night hadn’t been a dream. If he’d woken up to find that Draco was just as distantly close as ever, he’d have been crushed.

A sharp rapping on the door startled them both into stillness, their heads whipping around to stare in horror as the door creaked open. Ron managed to roll off of Malfoy just as Hermione’s eyes peered around the edge of the door.

“Whoops, sorry!” Her face disappeared a moment later, and just as she clicked the door closed, she called through the quickly evaporating crack, “Breakfast is ready.”

“Well, SHE knows.” Draco drawled blandly, staring at the door with an unconcerned stare.

“Nah… You think?” Ron asked, having only a spark of hope that she hadn’t picked up on at least the feelings that they were probably projecting.

“If she doesn’t yet, she will by the end of the day.” Draco surmised, lifting his brows at Ron. “Witch seems to know everything.”

“That she does.” Ron agreed, giving Draco one last longing glance. “Suppose we’d better get up before she comes barging back in.”

“Or someone else.” Draco muttered irately, following Ron from the bed, grumbling a few more inaudible complaints as the pair got dressed.

* * *

Ron gulped water greedily, and wiped his brow, basking in the muggle air conditioning that kept the house cool. It wasn’t terribly hot out today, but the sun seemed to be relentless while they were under it.

“So, you two have everything figured out?” Hermione’s voice made him jump, and he spun, locking his gaze to the brunette witch standing in the doorway.

“What do you mean?” He asked, purposefully oblivious. Hermione rolled her eyes and entered the kitchen, glancing behind her to check for eavesdroppers.

“You and Malfoy spoke last night?” She asked, her gaze piercing. Ron averted his eyes, thinking very hard about the surface of the kitchen counters as he answered.

“Yeah.”

“And?” She sounded eager, and he glanced up, seeing the excitement in her stare. She seemed just as thrilled about him and Draco and he had been.

“I dunno. I guess we’re more than friends? We didn’t really _talk_ so much about what we were, as just tried to figure out what we were okay with.” He felt his face darkening as he remembered just how much that had been.

“AND?” Hermione needled, leaning in, her eyes filled with anticipation, as though his love life was a novel she was reading.

“And what? Don’t you already know everything?” He asked, feeling a tad bitter that he couldn’t hide anything from her.

“...No. I’ve been trying very hard to stay out of your heads, as much for your own privacy as my own innocence.” She sounded defensive, and he grinned.

“What innocence? You’re dating Snape, aren’t you?” He teased, recalling the skimpy nightgown she’d worn to bed with the man. Her face flamed, but she held her head high, and Ron was glad in that instant the HE wasn’t a Legilimens. He had no desire to see what memories might be making Hermione flush such a color.

“Well, my soundness of mind, then!” She huffed, not denying that she’d slept with the dark haired man. Ron decided not to read too far into her relationship, and swerved the topic away, glad that she seemed just as willing to get back to her inquiry.

“So you _don't_ know what happened last night?” He asked suspiciously. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head.

“Something HAPPENED?” She questioned, putting much more emphasis on the word than he had. “Did you guys kiss?”

She sounded so happy, he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face in response.

“A bit, yeah.” He felt his cheeks darkening once again, and ducked his head. “Look, I don’t know if I fancy blokes more than girls, but… I definitely fancy HIM.” He admitted, recalling the way Draco had nearly swallowed him. He really had seemed to enjoy Ron pushing his face down, and it had been one of the hottest things Ron had ever experienced.

He watched as a strange expression crossed her face, and noticed how she turned her gaze away, looking guilty.

“Sorry, sorry!” She exclaimed, squeezing her eyes closed, and rubbing her forehead for a moment before reopening them. It took him a moment to realize what she was apologizing for, and as soon as it hit him, he felt mortified.

“Did you just- Were you-?” He couldn’t finish the humiliating question, but she nodded slightly, reopening her eyes.

“Only a bit. It was an accident, I swear! I only caught a little of what you were thinking. Mostly the color red, and that you thought he was sexy.” She mumbled, keeping her eyes averted. He sighed with relief that she hadn’t SEEN what he’d been thinking about.

“Well, I suppose it could’ve been worse…” He muttered back, both of their cheeks flaming with embarrassment. Hermione glanced up with curiosity at that statement.

“Worse? As in… More happened?” She twerked her eyebrows suggestively, and he was certain that his face was going to combust if it got any hotter. “Did you… did you _have sex_?” She hissed the last two words covertly.

“No!” Ron denied quickly, “Is that even possible? I mean, neither of us has… Has…” He gestured to her hips, and she scoffed.

“Just because neither of you is a woman doesn’t mean you can’t have sex!” Hermione asserted, keeping her voice low. “There’s other ways of having sex, Ron.”

“And… You know about them?” He asked, looking her up and down with implication. Her cheeks blazed, and she crossed her arms.

“I might! Do you need lessons on how to do it?” She asked snidely, covering her embarrassment with sarcasm. Ron hesitated, mouth open, ready to reply in equal measure, but her words hit a little too close to home.

“Maybe…” He grunted, turning his eyes from hers. If there was anyone on Earth he would admit to that he didn’t know what he was doing, it was Hermione.

“‘Maybe’?” She echoed, taking a step back to regard him.

“Alright, YES. I’m a moron, and I have absolutely NO idea what I’m doing.” He grumbled, scuffing the toe of one shoe on the tiles. Hermione scoffed.

“I promise, _no one_ really knows what they’re doing at first. I didn’t. Does Malfoy have any experience?” She asked, her tone analytical. He shook his head.

“Nah, but he seems to be naturally good at… things.”

“‘Things’?” Her eyebrows lifted with humor, but she didn’t press the subject. “Well, anyway, if it’s any less awkward, I could have Severus speak with him about it, if you like.”

“Yes! That’d be brilliant.” Ron sighed, fighting a chuckle at what Draco would say if he knew Ron was pushing the uncomfortable conversation to him. As long as he didn’t have to hear anymore about how Hermione and ‘Severus’ had gotten along.

* * *

Draco shoved dirt around almost aimlessly, his mind wandering as he pretended to garden with Ron. He was watching the redhead more than anything, reliving the past night, and imagining what tonight might bring. He watched Ron work with more purpose, his lanky body familiar with the tools, his shoulders appearing strong as he dug up bits of dirt despite how naturally thin he was. Draco found himself nearly salivating as he recalled just how he’d used those muscles. He felt depraved thinking such indecent, unmanly things about Ron, but try as he might, he couldn’t stop feeling the giddy anticipation that they might be all over each other again in several hours. He was already planning what else he might like to try, and having the hardest of times keeping his dick from responding, here, where anyone might see.

“Draco, come with me.” Snape was standing at the edge of the dug-up patch, and Draco glanced at Ron. Ron’s cheeks were pink, probably from the sun, he thought, and he gave an encouraging smile. Draco half walked, half hopped to where the potions master stood, having to pass by where Dean and Neville were sticking plants into the holes he and Ron had created.

Snape strode silently back into the house, and Draco followed just as mutely, all the way down to Snape’s basement lab.

“It has come to my attention that you and Weasley have become more physical, and, unfortunately, it seems to have fallen to ME to make sure that you don’t unwittingly harm one another in your ignorance.” His eyes were black stone, his shoulders stiff, and Draco felt dread mix with horror at what he was hearing.

“That’s really not necessary, sir…” He stammered, backing toward the stairs a few paces, hoping he could escape.

“If you flee, I will _gladly_ provide this lesson as you go about your day, despite who may be around at any given moment. Sit. Down.” Snape bit out, his face holding not an inch of compassion. Draco sank onto the nearest potion’s stool, and gulped, feeling that this conversation, though horrifying, was best kept private.

“You and Weasley have begun the intricate dance of intimacy, but it appears as though neither of you has any experience with such a matter, especially where the same sex is concerned. Tell me, Draco, you’ve at least _heard_ how two men might go about copulating?”

He simply nodded in reply, unable to force words through his teeth, which were grinding with chagrin.

“Good, so I won’t have to explain to you exactly how to go about your business.” He paused, sizing up the blond before him, and began pacing back and forth. “What you may NOT be aware of is that such actions must be undertaken carefully, or someone might get injured, which would result in a very unpleasant situation for both me, as the best healer available, and the injured party. So listen closely if you’d rather not have this conversation again.”

Draco nodded again, swallowing the discomfort in his throat, and tried to tune out the fact that it was Severus Snape providing the gory details, instead focusing on WHAT he was being counseled on.

“There are certain spells one can use to properly prepare for the act, and certain potions. For novices such as yourselves, I have the perfect brew.” He pulled a clear, bulbous bottle from a table, and held it up. “This potion was designed with exactly that purpose. It will provide the lubrication not naturally found, and ease any discomfort should one go too quickly. It is mixed with a small amount of dittany, to heal any minor tears or scratches, however, it will not act as a substitute for proper etiquette.” He shoved the bottle into Draco’s hands, and clasped his own behind his back, resuming his pacing.

“The simplest, and best course of action is to manually stretch the receiver’s orifice, so they may become gradually used to the sensation. Start small, and work up, until you feel you can adequately endure the act. You will need to use the potion liberally, until you’ve become more accustomed to what you’re doing, and can begin to gauge for yourselves just how you’d like to season your performance.”

Draco kept his eyes on the bottle a new curiosity filling him to the brim. Would Ron want to shag him? Would he demand to be on top? If he did, would he be just as dominant as he’d been with Draco fellating him? His mouth was practically watering as he thought about Ron pounding him into the mattress. Dear Merlin, he WAS a deviant. If his father knew that he was fantasising about taking it up the arse, he’d be disinherited faster than he was thrown in Azkaban.

“Remember, Draco. Go slowly, use plenty of potion, and COMMUNICATE. It may be unpleasant to discuss such things aloud, but if you’re going to engage in adult activities, you should be willing to ACT like one. Have I made this all perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Draco acknowledged.

“Any questions?” Snape had stopped his pacing, and was staring Draco down with a look that made him feel wrong-footed. He did the only thing he knew how to regain some semblance of balance.

“So… Granger’s taken it up the arse, then?” He smirked, and jiggled the prepared potion around inside the bottle. He was ready to dodge a hex, positive that Snape would make him pay for the wisecrack.

“I never said it was ONLY for that purpose, Malfoy. It also works miracles on virgins, as I’m sure you’ll soon find out.” The cruel sneer was all the encouragement Draco needed to hurry from the room, his face flaming with indignity he couldn’t form a retort to.


	14. Unexpected

Ron stepped from the shower, and shook the water from his hair before grabbing a towel and rubbing it along his head. He’d taken a shower mostly to avoid having to talk with Draco for a bit longer. He’d been giving him odd looks all day, and Ron knew that whatever Snape had told him was sure to be relayed before long. Ron felt like a coward, hiding behind the guise of being busy, but when faced with actually chatting about the details of what was expected between them, he felt anxious to the point of being queasy.

He wrapped the towel around his hips and left the bathroom, staring at the carpet as he walked, trying not to think about the fact that at least two people, Snape and Hermione, knew that he and Draco were becoming more intimate. At least Hermione hadn’t seemed at all disgusted by the idea of him shagging a bloke. He wondered if his parents would say the same. He should probably tell them that he and Draco were… what WERE they? Dating? Fooling around?

“You look like someone’s set you four essays to turn in tomorrow.” Draco’s voice jolted Ron from his musings, and he realized that he’d entered the room and gotten halfway to the closet without noticing that Draco was even there.

“Just thinking.” Ron announced, feeling his face heat. This was it, he was alone with Draco, and there was no one around to stop him from relaying what Snape had told him.

“Well, I’m going to have a shower, then.” Draco replied, rolling from the bed, and shuffling to the door, hands in his pockets. Ron avoided looking at his face as he went, and after the door closed, he sighed in relief. He had a few more moments to prepare for the awkward conversation.

* * *

Draco let out a breath he’d been holding, and pulled his hands from his pockets, pulling the potion bottle out, and setting it on the counter. He stared at it a moment, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he’d planned to do.

Once the shower was running, and he’d disrobed, he delicately moved the potion to the side of the tub, and stepped under the stream of water, letting it warm and relax him. He’d been thinking about it all day, and had finally managed to reconcile with the fact that if he and Ron had sex, he’d more than likely be the one taking it. Ron had seemed to be avoiding him a bit, and he knew that the redhead was aware that there was something afoot. More than likely he knew what they had to talk about, and was just as uncomfortable with it as Draco himself was.

So Draco lifted the bottle, determined to figure a few things out on his own before he tried to awkwardly relay anything. It opened easily enough, and he poured a few dribbles over his fingers, being careful to avoid the water with them as he recorked the bottle and set it aside. He rubbed his fingers together, spreading the potion around, making sure his fingers were well coated, and took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He guided the slick fingers easily behind him, and braced one hand on the wall as he spread the potion around the sensitive hole. He closed his eyes, trying to overcome his embarrassment at touching himself in such a manner, pushing all thoughts aside except for what it felt like. It was strange, but not unpleasant, and as he forced his breathing to remain even, he pushed one finger slowly into himself, amazed at just how slick the potion made it, how comfortable that single finger felt surrounded by his own heated flesh. He moved it back and forth, in and out, slowly testing the resistance. It seemed easier every time, so he slid a second finger in. It went in just as easily as the first, and Draco groaned quietly at the strange feeling of being stretched without pain. It felt… good. He could imagine it was Ron, pushing in and out, and as he hesitantly added a third finger, he squeezed his eyes tighter closed, completely aware of how hard he was getting.

He pulled his fingers out and opened his eyes, forcing himself to stop before he began tugging at his erection. Despite having cum twice the night previous, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to consistently manage more than one orgasm, and didn’t want to finish before he’d even touched Ron again.

He began washing, rinsing the potion from his fingers, and scrubbing at his skin a bit longer than necessary as his thoughts revolved inside his head. He fancied a man, he liked sucking cock, and he was already enjoying it up the arse. He really was nance. He wondered idly if his father would curse him, or curse at him if he ever found out. Likely the former. Snape didn’t seem to care at all, and neither did Granger. He thought of Mr. Weasley. Would he mind so much if he found out one of HIS sons was gay? He had plenty of others to give him grandchildren, so probably not.

Draco stepped from the shower and dried quickly, hiding the potion in his hand under his previous shirt. As long as no one saw it in passing in the hallway, he didn’t care how suspicious he looked.

* * *

Ron lay in bed, staring at the empty pillow, waiting for Draco to return, his arms folded across his chest defensively, and though he was expecting it completely, still nearly jumped out of his skin when the door creaked open, and the blond stepped in.

“Have a nice shower?” He asked, attempting to make polite conversation as Draco approached the bed, his half-naked body drawing Ron’s gaze.

“Yeah.” Draco responded with a shrug, setting his shirt and towel atop the bed. Ron didn’t spare half a glance for the pile of fabric, instead drinking in the sight of the totally nude Malfoy who was crawling across the bed toward him.

He felt his heart stutter in response as Draco leaned in, straddling his legs over the blanket, and pressed a firm kiss to his lips. It’s what he’d been fantasizing about all day, and he melted into it, grabbing a fistful of blond hair, and deepening the kiss. He could feel his dick twitching to life under the covers, and greedily kissed Draco as his ass rubbed against him through the covers. All thoughts of the awkward conversation were pushed from his mind.

He let his eyes flutter closed as kisses were placed along his cheek, neck, and chest, the hot mouth going lower, and lower, until he was pulling the blanket, and his shorts down, revealing the rock-hard shaft, and sliding his mouth over that, too. Ron’s eyes rolled back beneath the lids as his erection was enveloped in the wetness, and he groaned as the tongue probed, and the lips suckled. His other hand came to tangle in Draco’s hair as well, until he was guiding the boy’s head up and down, faster with each pass. He could see Draco’s arm working his own cock, and was approaching the brink of orgasm when the delicious blond pulled away.

Ron groaned in exasperation, but said nothing as his eyes popped open, and he saw the intense, lusty look written across his lover’s face. It was a look that clearly begged to be fucked.

“Do you want me to keep going, or… Or do you want to shag?” Draco asked, his voice wavering a bit in the middle. He was obviously nervous, and Ron felt his heart leap at the adorable way he’d offered, the way he licked his lips anxiously as he viewed Ron.

“What sort of a madman would say no to shagging?” Ron asked, and heard his own voice quiver slightly with tension. He hoped that whatever Snape had told Draco wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

* * *

Draco directed Ron swiftly to lie flat on his back, trying to tame the wild fluttering of his pulse as he snatched the potion bottle up from his pile of clothes, and focused on his task. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Ron’s eyes as he let a few trails of potion slide down his fingers, and was glad that Ron seemed content to let him work without questions. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to make his mouth form words if he tried right then.

He first applied the potion to Ron’s shaft, jerking it a few times with the slick liquid, distracting both himself and Ron, before he dipped his hand below his own balls, and swirled his fingers around his entrance. He brought his free hand forward, and continued to slowly pleasure the redhead as he prepared himself to be impaled, inserting one finger, then two. He moved them in and out at the same pace his other had worked, giving himself a few moments to adjust, remembering clearly how Snape had pushed the matter of being slow, and gentle. He didn’t have any desire to have the old bat mending his wounds because of carelessness. He’d die of mortification if it came to that…

When the sensation went from strange to pleasurable, he removed his fingers, and scooted forward, aligning himself with Ron’s shaft. The redhead stayed silent throughout, watching with fascination and reverence as Draco lowered himself. He paused, the head of Ron’s cock waiting at his opening, and finally, he looked up, meeting the blue eyes to see how Ron was reacting. The look on his face was full of eager anticipation, not a trace of regret, or apprehension, and Draco let himself down further, groaning slightly the girth much larger than his own fingers entered him. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was strange. A much more intense feeling than his own ministrations had been. He went slowly, sinking onto the shaft with unhurried purpose, glad for Ron’s restraint as long fingers squeezed his thighs, but he otherwise lay incredibly still. The redhead seemed to understand that Draco’s pace wasn’t to torture him, and he was doing his best not to make things more difficult.

Draco felt a strange wash of satisfaction and achievement as his cheeks came to rest on Ron’s thighs. He’d taken the entire length into himself, and not felt a smidgen of pain or real discomfort. That potion really was a miracle. He moved up and down, testing to see if the motion would carry any unease. The resulting feeling made him groan once more, and Ron’s fingers dug nearly painfully into his thighs, attempting to hold on to his own self control.

“You can move now…” Draco gasped out, leaning down to brace his arms on either side or Ron’s head and kissing the soft pink lips that were slightly parted.

Ron took his words to action immediately, rolling his hips upward, thrusting deeply into the blond. Draco moaned at the sensation it created, and Ron kissed the noise away, letting himself thrust freely as Draco barely managed to remember how to breathe.

He wasn’t sure if it was the potion or his own depravity, but the way Ron was moving was like nothing he’d felt before. It was physically pleasurable, and mentally arousing because of how perverted it felt. Before Ron, he’d never have considered allowing someone to fuck him in the ass, and now, all he wanted was more.

When Ron rolled him onto his back, he went eagerly, and wrapped his legs around slim hips, his arms around wide shoulders. Ron did not disappoint. On top, he thrust harder, faster, and deeper, making Draco nearly purr with pleasure. He drove all thought from the blond’s mind, leaving only room for the sensation of being filled, over and over again. When Ron’s hand snaked between their bodies, and he gripped Draco’s cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts, he forgot everything outside of that moment. He was no longer a Malfoy. He was no longer a wizard. He was no longer anything except what Ron wanted him to be. Ron, it seemed, wanted him to cum.

He reached orgasm in an instant, the pleasure bursting into tangible proof on his own stomach. He whimpered powerlessly as Ron continued to drive into him. His nails dug into the pale, freckled shoulders as Ron’s hand squeezed his still hard, and overly sensitive cock almost painfully. His hips jerked noisily against Draco’s, making him nearly cry out from overuse, but just as it became too much to bear, Ron slowed, and stopped, coming to a halt while still embedded in Malfoy. His whole frame shook and heaved with breath and tremors as he regained his own mental facilities.

Draco came to his own senses after a few moments, and realized that the heat of their coupling had left them both sweating, out of breath, and trembling. Ron let himself down, lying atop the blond easily, and finally, Ron’s waning member came free, leaving Draco feeling strangely empty, and incomplete, but wholly satisfied. As they caught their breath, Draco chuckled to himself, and Ron gazed up, curious.

“If my father hadn’t disowned me before, he would certainly do so if he knew about this.” He explained, finding the matter more humorous than heartbreaking. He couldn’t be upset over his father’s fickleness when he felt so warm, so cherished.

“Well if you’re worried about not having parents, I’m pretty sure my mum’s about a hair away from trying to adopt you.” Ron joked, nuzzling into Draco’s neck.

“That would make this… Incredibly wrong.” Draco teased back, letting his fingers sift absently through Ron’s hair. He knew the redhead was mere seconds from sleep, but the soft chuckle that he felt more than heard made him smile.

“They can do whatever they want. I’m not changing a thing.” Ron said, and Draco’s smile widened.

“Not a single thing? Not even at my request?” Draco asked, his cheeks darkening once more as he thought of new ways to tease the weasel.

“What would YOU change?” Ron asked, sounding a bit defensive.

“Quite a bit, actually. I’d change positions, locations, orifices...” Silence met his reply as the words sank into Ron’s brain, and as they did, he could feel Ron’s response growing against his thigh. The arm tightening around his waist, and the mouth pressing into his neck told him all he needed to know about what Ron thought of his ideas. Now the only problem would be getting any sleep.

* * *

Ron woke with a start, jolting into a sitting position, and looked around the room, confused by what woke him. Draco was slowly sitting up, glaring balefully around at being woken so suddenly by Ron’s movement, and Ron couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face when he saw the many different shades of hickeys that covered the pale skin from neck to hips. If he’d thought that what had happened had been a dream, he had instant proof that it was real. Draco was his, despite the evil glare he was receiving, and he was halfway to leaning in for a kiss when the knock sounded again. THAT was what had woken him.

“Ron, Draco, are you decent? It’s half ten!” Hermione’s voice called through the door. Ron felt a wash of relief that she hadn’t opened the door, and shouted back through it.

“We’ll be down soon!”

“If you don’t hurry, your mum’s of a mind to come drag you out of bed!” Hermione warned, before silence fell once more.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower.” Draco said, hopping out of the bed easily. Much too easily, Ron thought, for someone who’d been unable to even hold himself upright after all their lovemaking.

“I need one, too!” Ron said, following after, keeping the sheet around his hips.

“You can have one next, I need a bit of privacy.” Draco said, his face flushing bright red.

“Privacy? For what? Pretty sure that went out the window when you let me-”

“Fine!” Draco conceded, and paused at the door. “Bring the potion.” His sly smile made Ron question just how many times he thought Ron could manage to get hard in twenty-four hours, but the responding stiffness beneath his makeshift wrap assured him that Draco would get what he wanted.

* * *

Ron picked dirt up with the shovel and moved it barely an inch to the side before dumping it back out. He was so tired, his arms didn’t want to cooperate, and he was certain that he would pass back out before dinner. His mother either didn’t realize, or didn’t care that they’d been up most of the night, and had been working them ragged in the garden all afternoon. The only thought that kept him going was that in the shower, Draco had promised to let him have a blowjob later, and to let him control it. He could already imagine the silver eyes watering, the pale face turning red, and the drooling mouth splitting into a grin after he’d cum. He just had to stay awake until after dinner.

He moved another pile of dirt a few inches, and looked up, glaring at the rest of the garden that needed tended.

“Ron!” Draco’s voice pulled his attention away from the dirt, and he looked first to the blonde, and then his gaze followed the pointing finger.

People were emerging from the tall grass at the edge of the garden, and Ron stumbled backward, horror filling him as he stared at the ragged looking bunch that was appearing.

“Ron, it’s me.” The oldest of the bunch called across to him, and he took in the man’s rugged appearance, torn jeans, stained t-shirt, and messy mop of fire-red curls. He gasped in surprise, as recognition hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Percy…?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of 'The Hole'. Next up in the series will be Percy's story. It's gonna be about what happened to him after the Battle of Hogwarts, and will eventually intersect and continue on from this ending.   
> I will either bring the story to and end with that one, or may do a mashup fourth installment where it goes back and forth between the various couples of the series. If you have an opinion on that, let me know!


End file.
